


Ghost of the Chateau D'If

by Meddalarksen, victoriousscarf



Category: The Count of Monte Cristo - All Media Types, X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fusion, Minor Character Death, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-13
Updated: 2012-06-14
Packaged: 2017-11-07 16:37:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 40,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/433228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meddalarksen/pseuds/Meddalarksen, https://archiveofourown.org/users/victoriousscarf/pseuds/victoriousscarf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On the verge of having everything he's ever wanted, everything is abruptly taken away from Erik Lehnsherr by the schemes of others. Imprisoned for life, he plots revenge while the fiance he left behind grieves.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. What Will Become Of the Righteous Man?

Leaning on the railing of the ship, Erik Lehnsherr turned eager eyes on the city as they came up to port. He had always been excited to return home, but this time was special. Even though he carried a letter he did not fully understand in a pocket, given to him by Napoleon in exile himself, that didn't matter. Not as much as the news he could give to the person he could see standing on the dock waiting as the ship sailed in.

Charles Xavier stood at the quay, his arms wrapped around himself to protect a bit from the sea breeze. He was dressed in summer clothes, which was fine when the wind wasn't cutting through them, but at the moment he really couldn't care less. His blue gaze remained focused on the merchant ship coming in to dock. The young man was waiting at the base of the gangplank almost as soon as it had made contact with the dock, his smile bright as he finally spotted the sailor he was looking for on the ship.

Going through his last actions quickly, the captain well knowing his desire to flee the ship as quickly as possible, Erik was one of the first down said gangplank, scooping Charles up and spinning him around happily.

Bracing his hands against Erik's shoulders for balance, Charles laughed, "Goodness, Erik! I'm glad to see you too, but what on earth?"

"You have no idea how glad I am to see you," Erik replied, all but effortlessly holding Charles up. "How have you been?" he asked, his own news burning in his chest but holding it off for as long as he could manage.

"Oh, I can imagine," the smaller man laughed. "I've been good, missing you terribly, and desperately awaiting your return, but nothing has really changed here while you've been gone." He tilted his head enough to nuzzle his nose against Erik's hair, "How have you been?"

Erik tilted his head back, kissing Charles before he continued, as the rest of the sailors streamed off the ship, a few calling out to the couple, but most just shaking their heads and walking on. "Missing you doesn't begin to cover," he replied. "I have news."

Charles offered him another wide smile, "Do I get to hear this news with my feet on the ground, or are you holding me here until you tell me?"

"I think I'm holding you up," Erik replied with a grin. "I'm going to be made Captain."

The smaller man stared at him, trying to find words to express his thoughts, "C-captain?" He moved his hands from Erik's shoulders to wrap his arms around the other's neck in an embrace, "Erik, that's wonderful!"

Erik whirled him around again before finally setting him down, cupping his face in both hands and kissing him deeply. "Captain," he said when he finally pulled away. "I saved our captain's life and got an abrupt promotion to my own ship."

Charles' blue eyes were alight with a mixture of emotions ranging from pride to hope to love, "I...Erik, this...we..."

"We can get married," Erik said. "I can support you, give you a good home, and give you my name if you like."

"Married." He leaned up, kissing the other again, "Yes, a thousand times yes. I would be honored to take your name."

Erik leaned down into the kiss, happiness practically radiating off his skin. "I love you more than I can say."

"And I you. With everything I have in me. Forever, Erik."

Grinning, he glanced up. Night had been falling when they arrived in port and he pointed to a particular star. "Do you see that star up there?"

Charles tilted his head back and looked up at the star Erik was indicating, "I couldn't miss it. I wish for your return on it every night."

"It leads me home to you," Erik said, into his hair. "Every time."

"Then I pray it stays there," the smaller man embraced the sailor, holding him tightly.

"I'll ask Him as a personal favor," he grinned. "Everything feels like it's finally falling into place." He'd worked his way up from the bottom of the ship over the past several years, scraping together enough to one day propose to Charles.

"I don't think I've ever been so happy," Charles smiled brightly. "I love you so much. And to think...you've been promoted to  _captain_ , Erik! You astonish me."

Laughing, Erik twirled him around. "My love for you will be as constant as that star," he murmured into Charles' thick brown hair.

"As long as that star shines, Erik, I swear you'll have my love," Charles replied softly.

Leaning down, Erik kissed him again, unable to stop touching the smaller man. His head snapped up after a moment though when he heard someone clear their throat, his eyes narrowing at the sight of who it was.

Charles drew back from the kiss, but not from the embrace as he turned to look. He offered his cousin a bit of a smile, "Sebastian."

"It's getting late," Sebastian Shaw said, his voice calm though he well knew the look Erik was giving him. "Shouldn't you be coming home? The docks have such... unsavory types around."

Charles' smile faded slightly as he responded, "I'll be along later, Sebastian."

"If you're sure you'll be safe," Shaw replied.

"He will be. Besides, he can take care of himself," Erik replied. Alright, he wasn't entirely sure he ever wanted Charles taking care of himself, but he would defend the other to Shaw any chance he got.

"There, you see. I'll be fine. If you're that worried about it, Erik can see me home," he glanced up at the man he still hadn't let go of to confirm that. Erik offered him another happy smile and nodded. He could see Charles to the moon that night, the way he felt.

Looking far from happy, Shaw nodded curtly. "I just feel responsible," he said, voice still smooth. "Since you are my cousin, no matter how distant the tie."

Charles' smile was looking more and more forced the longer this went on, "And I appreciate the concern, but it is unnecessary."

Sniffing, Shaw realized the tide was turning against him and whirled on his heel to stalk away, Erik angry but also so happy behind him.

His cousin watched him go before shaking his head and turning back to Erik, "Sorry about that. Where were we?"

Erik shook his head slightly, grinning happily at him. "You're going to marry me?" he offered.

That brought the return of a genuine smile to Charles' features, "Yes. I'm going to marry you. As soon as possible, preferably."

"As soon as possible," Erik agreed. "I suppose tomorrow night isn't feasible?"

Charles bit his lip, considering, "It's not as though we need anyone more than the two of us, a priest and witnesses."

Erik blinked, having been joking. He buried his face in the crook of Charles' neck, breathing for a moment. "I want to give you a real wedding," he murmured. "You deserve that."

"I don't need that, Erik. Marrying you is more than I could have hoped for, be it a private ceremony tomorrow or something planned and lauded about town," the other protested.

Erik swallowed, pulling him closer by the waist. "The night after tomorrow," he said quietly. "I have some small business to take care of tomorrow night. I certainly want to be able to give you _all_  my attention on your wedding night."

"What sort of business, Erik?"

"I need to deliver a letter," he replied. "And I would like to be somewhat more prepared to take you home with me."

The smaller man nodded, leaning up to kiss Erik again, "Alright then. The night after next."

"Do I have to walk you home now?" Erik asked, not relishing the prospect of letting the other go.

"I should be getting back, yes. Though, given my choices I'd much prefer to stay here."

Erik smiled against the side of his face, kissing his cheek. "I'd prefer you do so as well."

Charles offered him another smile, "I'll see you tomorrow at some point?"

"Yes," Erik said. "I'll stop by in the morning."

"Then I suppose I can let you walk me home now..."

Erik wrapped an arm around his waist, finally letting go enough to let either of them move. Charles leaned his head against the other man's shoulder, wrapping his arm around his waist as well, as they started toward his home. Erik rubbed a thumb over Charles' arm as they walked. "Would you like anything, as a wedding present?"

"Beyond life as your spouse?" He shook his head slightly, "I honestly can't think of a thing."

For that Erik had to kiss him again, quickly and awkwardly considering the angle.

"What about you, Erik? Any gift I could find you?" The smaller man lifted his head to glance up at his fiancé.

"You're all the gifts I need," Erik replied, knowing exactly how silly that sounded but entirely meaning it.

Charles offered him another bright smile, returning his head to where it rested against the other's shoulder, "I love you."

Erik glanced back up to the sky, hunting out their star before smiling back down to Charles. "You make me happier than all the wealth in the world could hope to."

"I could have every blessing the world has to offer, but without you, I would find no worth in it. You're the greatest treasure I could ask for, Erik."

Erik grinned, almost tempted to roll his eyes. "We sound like a cheap romance," he murmured. "Actually, I feel like a cheap romance. I can't believe I really can have everything."

Charles laughed again, "I'm alright with that comparison, in all honesty."

"Hopeless romantic," Erik murmured fondly.

"Hardly hopeless," the other retorted, "as this evening proves."

Erik laughed happily at that. "Perhaps that's true."

Charles leaned up to kiss Erik's cheek, "Either way, I am more than happy to be a romantic, and more than happy to live a romance."

"We have quite the romance," Erik agreed, slowing his steps as Charles' door came into sight.

"And the rest of our lives to deepen it."

Leaning down, Erik kissed him long and deep. Charles' arms moved to wrap around Erik's neck as he pressed up into the kiss, matching passion for passion. Letting his hands settle on the other's waist, Erik pressed into it just a little bit more, vaguely aware he was going to need to breathe at some point. One hand moving to tangle in the taller man's hair, Charles seemed to have disregarded the need for breath as he drew himself as close to flush against the other man as he could without toppling them both. Steadying them both, Erik pulled him those centimeters closer before finally pulling away or he wouldn't.

Charles made a small sound of disappointment at the retreat, but offered Erik another smile, his cheeks flushed, "I sh-should probably get inside."

Erik nodded, having not released the other. "I'll be by in the morning."

"I look forward to it. Good night, love."

"Good night, Charles," Erik said, nuzzling his hair before pulling away.

The smaller man offered him yet another smile before finally taking a full step back, "I'll see you in the morning." He turned and entered the house, hesitating before closing the door. Erik watched him, waiting until the door closed before he turned and went home.

Shaw was sitting in the front room reading, clearly waiting for Charles to come home. Charles paused when he saw his cousin there, but didn't say anything before starting for the staircase.

"Did you have a good night?" Shaw asked.

He closed his eyes, having been hoping to keep his good mood for the rest of the night. He turned back, nodding, "Yes. I did actually."

"Your sailor seems to have returned... unharmed," Shaw said, not sounding overly pleased.

That was greeted with a smile, "Yes, he's doing wonderfully."

"You could do so much better," Shaw replied. "You're related to nobility and yet you gallivant around with a sailor?"

"We've been over this, Sebastian. I don't want better. I love Erik," Charles sighed.

"One day you might have cause to regret that," Shaw told him.

"Not in the foreseeable future." He knew he was going to regret asking the next question, "Why would I possibly regret it? He's a good man, and he can provide for me. He loves me too."

"He can provide for you?" Shaw asked. "How?"

"He's just been made Captain," Charles answered, a note of pride creeping into his voice.

Shaw's eyes widened slightly. "He's rather young," he remarked vaguely, trying to process that information.

"Yes, but I don't see what that has to do with anything."

Shaw shrugged. "Captain or not, are you sure he'll be able to provide for you in the years to come?"

Charles' jaw tensed, having had a conversation of a similar vein one too many times, "Yes, Sebastian."

"How do you even know his intentions are honorable?"

"How do you know they aren't?"

"Has he ever done anything to prove they are? Who knows how many ports he lands in?"

Charles' entire body stiffened at that, "Sebastian...you have no right to speak of him in such a way."

The older man shrugged. "You're just young," he said. "And naïve."

"And engaged." The words slipped out before he could catch them.

Every muscle in Shaw's body tensed. "What?"

Well, they had been said and he couldn't rescind them, "You heard me, cousin. I'm sure of it."

"You're engaged to a sailor?" he managed.

"I'm engaged to a ship's captain," came the rapid correction.

"When?" Shaw asked past a dry throat.

"When what? When are we to be married? A few days' time," Charles did his best not to hear anything against it in his cousin's tone.

Shaw blinked at him, processing. "That's moving awfully fast, is it not? How will you be able to prepare a wedding in that time?"

"I'm not planning on a large ceremony, Sebastian. I don't want one."

"How could you not—?" he started and shook his head. "Congratulations," he managed past gritted teeth.

Charles would accept it, even if it was unwillingly given, "Thank you. Is there anything else you wished to discuss tonight?"

Shaw silently shook his head.

The younger man nodded slightly, "In that case, good night, Sebastian."

"Good night, Charles," the older replied.

He retreated up the stairs, retiring to his room for the night. Watching him, Shaw shook his head, brooding in his chair for a while yet before retreating to his own rooms.

M-M-M-M

Erik glanced once more at the name on the thick letter he held before knocking on the door of the ornate house. The door was opened moments later by an elegantly clad servant whose eyebrow arched at the sight of the sailor and the clothes he wore, "Yes?"

"I have a letter to deliver," he replied. "To a Monsieur Noirtier de Villefort? I believe he lives here?"

The servant stepped aside to allow him entry, "Wait here, Monsieur."

A woman, her red hair expertly coifed and her dark burgundy dress flattering her form, descended the staircase, meeting the servant halfway. Her face showed no sign of recognition as the man relayed news regarding Erik's business there. Dismissing the servant with a wave of her hand she continued on her way, reaching the bottom of the staircase, "May I see the letter?"

Erik blinked at the woman's appearance. "It is for Monsieur Noirtier de Villefort," he repeated. "I am to give it to him."

She looked him over, appraisingly, "I am Monsieur de Villefort's daughter, Jean. Unfortunately my father is indisposed at the moment. If you leave the letter with me I shall see that he gets it."

Shifting, he paused, considering who had given him the letter. But, if this woman was his daughter, then surely it would be alright to leave it with her? After all, all he really wanted to do was return to Charles for tomorrow night. "Alright," he said after a moment, taking the letter from his coat pocket and handing it to her.

She took it with a smile, looking at the script on the outside. It wasn't a hand she recognized, "Thank you for delivering this, Monsieur...?"

"Erik Lehnsherr," he replied promptly.

"Thank you again. I wish you well, good day to you, Monsieur Lehnsherr."

"A good day to you as well," he replied brightly. "I hope your father feels less indisposed soon."

"I'm certain he shall." She waited until the young man had left before retiring to the drawing room and opening the letter. With an unfamiliar script on the address, Jean wasn't about to trust her father with it. Her gaze quickly skimmed over the contents of the letter, her cordial smile from moments before vanished to be replaced by a severe frown. This would have to be dealt with. Her gaze flickered to the window—there was more than one way to cover something like this up. Folding the letter again, she slipped it into the bodice of her dress. She would dispose of it later.

Still thinking nothing in the world was wrong and that everything would work out, Erik whistled to himself as he returned home, thoughts swimming with Charles and the next night.

M-M-M-M

Walking home from lunching out the next day, Shaw surveyed the street around him with no small amount of distaste. He could not wait to leave this port town behind him some day and move to Paris itself.

Cain Marko stepped out of the doorway of a building, approaching the other man, "Sebastian Shaw, wait a moment if you would."

The other man paused and turned. "Yes, Monsieur Marko?"

"Perhaps we could speak somewhere a bit more private?" He looked around pointedly at the press of people on the street.

Blinking, Shaw nodded and gestured down the street. "My home is but a few more blocks if that would be private enough."

"It should be, yes." Marko fell into step beside the other, "You are cousin to Charles Xavier, aren't you?"

"Yes," Shaw said. "Is this something to do with him?"

"More to do with Erik Lehnsherr than your cousin, monsieur."

That got Shaw's attention in moments. "What of the sailor?" he asked.

Mark offered the other man a smirk at that, "It sounds as though you don't much care for him, unless I'm mistaken?"

"No," Shaw replied simply but his voice harsh. "Do you?"

"No. Not at all. I think you may be interested in what I have to say, in this case," they had finally reached Shaw's home and Marko waited until they were inside before speaking again. "I have a way to get Erik Lehnsherr out of both of our lives."

Shaw sat down after making sure the door was closed and Charles wasn't around. "Oh?" he asked, voice calm though his eyes glittered with excitement at the prospect.

"We accuse him of being a Bonapartist. He went ashore at Elba, and I know our captain gave him something to deliver. It may not be much at the moment, but build on those charges and we won't have to worry about Lehnsherr again."

Leaning back in the chair, Shaw considered. "Those are quite the charges. The issue would be finding someone to actually prosecute them on such small evidence."

"What about that new prosecutor, de Villefort. Still trying to make a name for herself, she might be willing to help us."

It took a moment for the other to consider before he nodded. "Yes, we can certainly try there first. Did you have anything else to do this afternoon?"

"No, I figured this would take up most of it. Didn't quite expect you to be so willing to work with this."

"He is engaged to my cousin," Shaw all but growled. "The sooner I get him out of the way the better. I am curious what you have against him though."

"In comparison to that, it might not seem much, but I had my eye on that ship he's now captain of," Marko replied, shrugging slightly. "Quickest way to get access to captaincy is to get rid of the other captain."

That got a low chuckle out of Shaw. "Ambition. That's always something to be encouraged."

"Shall we see if de Villefort is willing to joining us in this?" the sailor smirked slightly, glancing at the door.

Shaw rose in a smooth motion, holding the door open for the other. "I very much believe we shall."

The two men made their way across town to the de Villefort home. Marko knocked on the door, telling the servant who answered that they were there to see the lady of the house. They were shown into a sitting room and a few minutes later Jean swept into the room, her dark red and black gown seeming almost out of place during the day. "Good day to you, gentlemen. What can I do for you?"

Rising, Shaw bowed to her before retaking his seat. "We are here on the matter of a sailor, Erik Lehnsherr who we believe to have Bonapartist dealings."

Her brow arched sharply at that as she took a seat across from them, inclining her head in acknowledgement that both men had risen to offer her a bow, "Erik Lehnsherr, you say? Why do you believe this of him?"

Shaw glanced over at Cain, who actually had seen the events they were trying to base this off.

The sailor leaned forward, "He went ashore on Elba, and our captain who was known for his Bonapartist leanings before he died last night, God rest his soul, gave him something to deliver there. He also returned and I saw a letter that hadn't been there before when he came back from the island."

Jean's brow arched as she thought about the letter, "Did you see the contents of this letter?"

"No, Madame."

"An address on it?"

"Not for certain."

"This is slim evidence the two of you bring me," she considered for a long moment.

Shaw looked between them quickly. "As a character reference for the individual in question," he said, "I can say that he has always been lacking in... honor and decency."

The woman traced a finger over her lower lip as she thought, "What cause do the two of you have to bring this to me? And do try not to give me a line about nationalism and loyalty to the country. I won't believe that."

Shaw's mouth twisted and he glanced at Cain again. "He is a thorn in everyone's side but his own, and has seduced my young cousin into what can only become a shameful marriage."

She glanced at Marko, "And you?"

"Like he said, he's a thorn in my side. He's stolen the ship that is rightfully mine."

"So, family loyalty," she looked at Shaw, sounding like she didn't believe that entirely, "and a desire for promotion," her green gaze moved to Cain, sounding like she believed that a bit more. "I too have reason to wish Lehnsherr away."

Shaw's brows rose and he leaned forward. "What has he done to you then?"

"If I find any word of this on the streets or around town, so much as a whisper even, I will use every method in my power to see that the two of you men are ruined, are we clear?" Her expression hardened and something dangerous flashed in her eyes.

Marko nodded, "Yes, ma'am."

Pausing a moment Shaw nodded as well.

"That letter was intended for my father. I intercepted it, but Lehnsherr can easily point a finger in my family's direction due to that indiscretion. I want that man out of the city, away where he cannot damage this name. It seems we all have a reason to want him gone." She considered them, "I ask you again, why come to me? There are secrets in the dark streets of this city that could solve your problem just as easily, perhaps more so."

Shaw shrugged one shoulder, holding his hands out. "We are legal folk," he replied.

Jean smiled darkly, "Always good to hear of such upstanding citizens. With what you've told me gentlemen I'm certain I can have him put away by midnight tomorrow. Of course, I would need to know where he is in order to send the guards for him."

Having spent the morning snooping around every church in town, Shaw managed to say, "Tonight he will be in the St. Mary's church by the quay."

Her brows rose at that, "Very good, what time?"

"I believe starting right after supper, so say seven," he said.

"Perfect. We will need to get our stories straight, gentlemen. Erik Lehnsherr cannot be allowed to stay in this town. I have a place to send him, and I shall see him off before the sun rises tomorrow."

Shaw nodded, more than pleased with the very idea. "Then let us get our stories straight."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! Welcome to a new story with us! Be prepared for a level of mood whiplash with this one as it is the story that taught us that either Erik and Charles are entirely sappy or completely angst ridden.
> 
> Alright, so this adaptation is a bit different from most of ours, since there was no script to actually follow. It's a conglomeration of the original novel (Which VS has read the entirety of, unabridged), the more recent movie with Guy Pierce, and the Frank Wildhorn musical concept cast. That CD was actually the closest thing we followed while writing this, so if you have any interest it should all be up on youtube.
> 
> ((The songs for this chapter are as follows: When Love is True and A Story Told))
> 
> Cheers all and welcome to the story!


	2. Still I Know Not Why

Having dealt with any last business he felt he needed to, Erik strolled into the church on time, looking around quickly for Charles. Charles stepped out of the alcove he'd been waiting in, offering the other man a smile, "Hello, love."

Offering him his arm, Erik led Charles to the front of the small church which was more of a chapel really. "Are you ready for this?" he asked quietly.

Charles looked up at him, squeezing his arm reassuringly, "I am. I love you, Erik. I'm ready for this."

"The best answer I could have hoped to hear," he murmured into Charles' hair.

The priest looked from one to the other, "Shall we begin?"

Erik nodded, beaming happily at the entire surroundings.

The cleric had just begun the ceremony when the doors of the chapel were slammed open and a handful of gendarmes entered. Charles turned, startled, as the captain stepped forward. The officer's eyes swept over the church, "Which one of you is Erik Lehnsherr?"

Erik glanced at Charles, eyes wide before stepping forward. "I am. What is this about?"

"You're under arrest, monsieur."

Charles' blue eyes widened and he looked up at Erik in shock and horror, "What?" He turned back to the soldier, "On what charge?"

"Treason."

"What?" Erik gaped at him. "I have... who brought these charges against me?"

"I don't know, sir. If you come with this it may be possible to get this straightened out," the captain spoke calmly.

"This...this isn't possible," Charles looked from Erik to the soldiers again.

Erik glanced quickly down at Charles, leaning down to kiss him quickly but deeply. "I'll return," he murmured. "We'll go and get this straightened out and then I'll return."

The smaller man pulled him down for another kiss, "I'll wait for you. I love you, Erik."

"And I you," he murmured, smoothing a hand over his hair. "I'll always love you." With another quick kiss, he finally stepped back and up to the guards.

The captain motioned for the guards to lead Erik out. He paused to offer a very slight apology as he closed the chapel doors behind them. Charles sank down on one of the pews, the priest standing there still trying to figure out what he had just witnessed.

M-M-M-M

Jean de Villefort sat in the study, the letter on the desk before her. The fire and candles cast flickering shadows on the walls. She looked up at a knock on the door to the room, "Enter." The captain of the gendarmes entered. "Did you find him?"

"Yes, Madame."

"Bring him in," she rose from her chair, coming around to lean on the desk as the captain exited to fetch the prisoner.

Erik was led in moments later, his eyes widening slightly at the sight of the woman in front of him. "Madame," he said in shock. "Surely, what is the meaning of this?"

She motioned to the chair in front of her desk, "Sit down, Monsieur. Let's see if we can get to the bottom of this."

Moving forward, he sat down gingerly, noting the guards that stood around the doors. "Who brought this case to you?" he asked.

"A couple of men who said they were concerned with things they had seen." She picked up the letter from her desk, "Did you see the contents of this letter, sir?"

He blinked. "That was for your father," he replied. "I did not open it. You should have noticed the seal was still closed."

"Who gave it to you?"

Pausing, he swallowed. "A man at Elba."

"And you didn't think twice about delivering the letter?" Her eyebrow arched.

Erik bit his lip and shook his head. "I had said I would deliver it and did so. Or, tried to."

"You're not making a convincing case for your innocence of the charges, Monsieur." She folded the letter, considering it for a long moment.

"It was a letter from one old man to another," Erik replied. "I never read it, what else was I supposed to do?"

"Your fellow sailor says you delivered something to Elba as well?"

Erik started back in some surprise. "What? Who said that? I did nothing of the sort."

"I didn't get his name. Large fellow, said he saw the captain give you something to deliver."

Frowning, Erik considered who that could have been. "Cain Marko," he muttered to himself, shaking his head. "I swear to you, there was no such package."

"Do you have anyone who can vouch for your character? The character witness who came today said you aren't exactly the most upright citizen."

"Who?" he asked again. "Who would say such a thing?" He shook his head. "Monsieur Morrel could vouch for my character, as could Charles Xavier who I was supposed to marry tonight."

"I hardly consider a spouse or fiancé a viable character witness. Unfortunately, Mr. Lehnsherr, I have your word against two fine gentlemen, and when the majority lead..." Jean shrugged slightly, lifting the letter to catch the corner on fire from a candle before tossing it into the fire.

Erik's eyes widened in shock at that. "The captain of my ship," he tried, feeling for the first time a little desperate. "Morrel owns the ship but he is not part of the crew. I believe I deserve to at least know who denounced me."

"You identified one of them. The other said that you seduced his cousin." She went to settle behind the desk again.

He barely managed not to let out a growl. "Sebastian Shaw," he said, voice deep and angry. "But why believe them?"

Her lips curled into a cold smile, "Did I say I believed them?" She looked past him to the door, "Guards!"

He gaped at her as he was lifted from the chair.

She signed a paper and affixed her seal to it, handing it to the captain, "Unfortunately, this man is too great a threat to the security of our illustrious nation. Your orders, Captain. See to it that he is taken to the prison."

The soldier saluted, offered her a bow and led his men out of the room with Erik. At the time Erik was far too stunned to respond, letting himself be let out almost all the way. "Wait, what about a trial?" he asked quickly.

"I fear our justice system is inherently flawed, and the threat of what I have seen in the evidence against you cannot be allowed to go free," She smirked, her eyes cold.

With that he stopped struggling entirely, too shocked to do much else. It felt like his entire world had frozen and started spinning the other way as everything right within his grasp was jerked away.

Jean extinguished the candle on her desk and poured herself a glass of wine. Erik Lehnsherr was on his way to rot for the rest of his miserable life in the Chateau d'If. Her name was safe, as soon as she saw her father locked in an institution.

M-M-M-M

Charles entered the house quietly. He'd waited for hours, it was nearing midnight now. The young man was silently praying that Erik would contact him in the morning and let him know that this was all some horrible mistake that they both knew it was.

Waiting up in the front parlor again, Shaw rose when he heard the door open. "Charles," he greeted quietly.

His cousin startled slightly at the voice, "Oh, Sebastian. You didn't have to wait up."

"I hardly knew if you were coming back tonight, in fact I assumed you were not," Shaw lied smoothly. "I was just caught up in my reading. Has something happened?"

"E-everything's fine," Charles tried to lie, but the tremor in his voice proved the falsity of his words.

"You are not at the home of your husband," Shaw pointed out.

"Erik...has business to deal with tonight."

"Business? On your wedding night?"

"It was rather crucial business." He sighed, "If that's all, I'm going to retire for the night."

"Charles," Shaw said, stopping him with a hand on his arm. "Whatever happened? You look a fright."

The smaller man turned to look at him, his blue eyes pained, "H-he's been arrested."

"What?" Shaw asked, managing to sound shocked.

"Erik." Charles swallowed, steadying himself, "He was arrested."

"On what charges?" Shaw asked, helping him over and sitting him down in a chair.

"T-treason." He turned desperate eyes to the other man, "He wouldn't have done that, Sebastian."

"Of course not, at least as he never let you know. But, he could have been hiding things from you."

Charles gaped at him, "He  _wouldn't_  do that. Erik wouldn't commit treason."

Shaw nodded, patting his arm. "Of course he would have you believe so. I shall go to the prosecutor tomorrow morning and enquire into this matter."

"I want to go with you."

Shaw looked him over and nodded. "Of course. First thing in the morning, Charles."

"Thank you, Sebastian." He looked toward the stairs, "If you don't mind, I think I'm going to retire for the night."

"Yes," Shaw patted his arm again. "Sleep if you can."

Charles rose and headed for the stairs, "Good night, Cousin."

Shaw murmured a good night, and waited until he was locked in his own room before grinning broadly.

M-M-M-M

Shaw rose early the next morning, going into the hallway and looking toward Charles' door. Charles hadn't slept the night before. He had been up for an hour and dressed. When he finally heard his cousin moving about he came out, "Good morning, Sebastian."

"Good morning, Charles," Shaw said, inclining his head. "You appear ready. Shall we go?"

The smaller man nodded, staying silent and looking almost as tired as he was. Shaw led the way down stairs and toward the house of Jean de Villefort.

Jean was in her study again when the two men were shown in to see her. She recognized Shaw and her brow arched, "Yes, gentlemen?"

"This is Charles Xavier," he said, motioning his cousin forward. "He was curious what charges Erik Lehnsherr was brought up on and I promised to bring him to you," he said, expression showing he wished her to keep their story straight.

Her eyes flickered to Charles and she inclined her head, "I'm afraid to say that Erik Lehnsherr has been charged with high treason and plotting to assist the escape of Bonaparte from Elba. The evidence was insurmountable."

Charles shook his head, his blue eyes wide, "That's not possible. Erik is a loyal citizen of France!"

"I am sorry, Monsieur."

"May I see him?"

Jean shook her head, "He was sent to the Chateau d'If as of last night."

"F-for how long?"

"Until such time as evidence arises to prove his innocence. It was that or the headsman, Monsieur."

Charles paled, one hand going to rest on the back of a chair as he felt his legs going weak, "H-headsman?"

Shaw put a hand on Charles' shoulder, trying to offer him reassurance. "Do not worry," he murmured. "I will try to sort this out."

Charles turned his gaze on his cousin, "I'm...I...it's Erik...he.."

Jean offered him an apologetic look, "Perhaps it's best you wait outside, Monsieur Xavier?"

He finally nodded, "Perhaps..." Once he felt steady again he slipped out of the room.

Shaw turned back to Jean. "All went well last night?"

"It couldn't have possibly gone better. He was on his way to the Chateau before sunset," She smiled.

He nodded. "Any chance of him ever leaving?"

"Not unless he can break through six feet of solid rock, survive the fall from the cliff into the sea and swim to shore, which after any time spent on the food regimen that I have heard served there is an impossibility. The only way Lehnsherr is leaving is wrapped in a blanket with an anchor attached to his feet."

That got a small chuckle out of Shaw. "Good. Carry on then."

"And you." She looked toward the door, "So is that the cousin then?"

Shaw nodded. "That is my cousin, yes."

"He seems loyal and charming. It's almost endearing."

That got another chuckle. "He is quite endearing. It's part of why I want Lehnsherr far away from him."

She tilted her head to one side, considering him, "You want him for yourself."

Shaw's smile was thin. "Is it that obvious?"

"Only to someone used to looking for motive," she replied.

"His grace and breeding would be wasted on a sailor," Shaw replied.

"Even a captain," Jean agreed dryly. "Well, go tell him that we shall be doing everything we can, but to not keep his hopes up."

"I shall be sure to tell him," Shaw said.

"Good day then, Shaw."

He tipped his hat to her before returning to his cousin out in the hallway.

Charles looked up as he came out, "Any luck?"

Shaw shook his head. "She promised to do all she could but it might not be enough on such charges."

"He...Sebastian, I can't lose him."

"I know," Shaw said. "I may dislike him but I know what he means to you." He paused a moment. "However, last night. Did the ceremony actually take place?"

"What does it matter, Sebastian?" Charles glanced up at his cousin as they exited the house and made their way along the street.

"We will do everything to get this cleared up. But if we can't... I would hate for you to have the stigma of being wed to a criminal."

"Must we discuss this now?"

Shaw paused. "I suppose not. I only wished to know what I was working with."

"We don't know that this isn't going to be cleared up."

"But if it's not," Shaw started to press and shook his head. "We can discuss this later if you can't now."

Charles drew his arms around himself, sighing, "No. The-the ceremony wasn't completed."

Shaw managed not to let his glee show on his face. "Alright. I'll work as hard as possible to get this resolved."

"Thank you, Sebastian."

He nodded. "Of course, Charles. You should know there's nothing I would not do for you."

"I know. I'm-I'm every so grateful for that, Sebastian," he looked up at the man beside him.

Shaw gave him a smile and a nod. "You're welcome," he murmured. "I only hope to be able to continue to help."

"I-I don't want to be a burden to you, Cousin."

"You would never be a burden, Charles."

He offered a faint smile, "Thank you."

Shaw smoothed a hand over his cousin's hair. "Always, Charles."

Charles drew away from the touch slightly. Trying not to let his displeasure show, Shaw took his hand back, sticking both of them in his pockets instead. "I'm sorry, Sebastian. I'm...I'd just rather not be touched at the moment."

"Yes, that's perfectly understandable," he said, still suppressing his annoyance.

"Nevertheless, I am sorry." They reached their home and Charles moved toward the stairs, "If you'll excuse me, cousin?"

"Yes," Shaw said. "Take the time you need."

He offered the taller man another faint smile before retreating to his chambers.

M-M-M-M

Thrown into his cell, Erik looked around it in horror for several moments. There was a high window in one wall, so at least he could see the sky. For the first several hours he just sat before rising and seeing how far he could pace around the walls, considering the stones.

Writing was scratched into the walls and he tried not to think of who last had written on them. He found a stone, and finding a bare patch of wall carved out the names of Jean de Villefort, Cain Marko and Sebastian Shaw so he would never forget, marking a line beside it for day one.

Every day he felt like he was dying a little death, scratching those lines into the wall. He spent the nights alone until the day came again. From his cell he pulled himself up to the barred window and nearly cried when he realized he could not see the star from this vantage point.

Instead he went back to pacing, and trying to figure out why he was there.

Charles spent his nights caught in fitful slumber or seated at the window, his gaze focused on the star. His mind constantly played the last days with Erik over and over again. He couldn't give up on the other man. He knew his insistence upon the other's innocence was grating on Sebastian's nerves, but he couldn't simply let Erik go.

As long as he could see that star at night he refused to lose hope that Erik would return to him. Nights were spent in lonely vigil and days passed in a blur. Nothing changed the pattern of the hours. He returned to prayer, something he hadn't done since he was young. Prayer for the safe return of the other man. He could not believe that Erik was guilty of the crimes he was accused of. He would never have done those things. It didn't seem to matter, every day brought less news than the one before, and more impatience from those around him. The seasons gradually changed as Charles continued to seek news.

M-M-M-M

Coming into his room over a year later, Shaw shook his head. "Charles," he said softly. "You have to live for today."

Charles turned from the window where he was watching for the star shortly after sunset again, his blue eyes were a dull shadow of what they had been the summer before, "He'll be back, Sebastian. I am living as best I know how, and I will live again when he is by my side."

Shaking his head, Shaw retreated again. Only time would convince the other... Time and a shove in the right direction.

Charles turned back to the window, murmuring another prayer for Erik's safe return, his gaze focused on the star.

Miles away Erik continued pacing his days away as months later Sebastian returned to Charles' room.

"Charles, there's been news. I just heard it today... I wanted to protect you. I wish there was a way I could make it false. I fear the worst has happened. An accident in the prison occurred—Erik Lehnsherr is dead. Dead and gone," he added to emphasize his point when his cousin didn't stir.

Charles paled as he finally turned to face the older man, "Th-that's not possible. Y-you must have heard wrong."

Shaw held out the death certificate quietly.

His hands shaking violently, the smaller man took the paper, looking it over, his gaze sweeping over it a half dozen times as the words blurred through the tears he could feel pricking his eyes, "Th-there has to be some mistake. Sebastian, he can't be dead!" Charles sank slowly down onto his bed, as though his legs had decided they wouldn't support him any longer.

Shaw looked him over, molding his features into sympathy. "I'm sorry, Charles."

The death certificate fell from his hand as he steeled himself and fixed his gaze on a single spot on the wall, "H-how? H-How did it happen?"

Shaw stooped down to pick the paper up, folding it and putting it on the dresser. "I believe it was something to do with a collapsing wall."

Charles' arms came up to wrap around himself, his breath hitching as he closed his eyes tightly, "G-god. This can't be happening. He...he was innocent."

"There is nothing you can do now," Shaw said. "I'll-I'll leave you to mourn. May he rest in peace, and may angels sing him to his rest."

The younger man nodded, shakily. He waited until Sebastian had finally left before lying down and allowing himself to weep. This couldn't be happening. Erik had done nothing and now? Now there was no chance that proving it would change things. He felt the world of his dreams vanish, his tomorrows stolen as surely as his fiance had been. The gentle moonlight was cold company and the star was nothing more than a lie. Never again to feel the love and gentleness in Erik's hand, to hear the affection in his voice. Charles cried himself to sleep that night, his back to the window for the first time since the other had been taken from him.

Over the next months, Shaw waited hand and foot on Charles as much as he could, doing everything to make him comfortable but still attempting to at least pretend he was giving him space.

Though it took a long time, Charles gradually pulled himself out of the state that Erik's apparent death had sent him spiraling into. His eyes no longer held the glimmer of laughter when he smiled, but he was actually willing to smile again. He approached Shaw finally, fully of his own accord, nearly two years after Erik's arrest, "Sebastian?"

The older man looked up. "Yes, Charles?"

"I just, I wanted to thank you," he murmured. "You've done so much these past months, and you didn't have to."

He blinked, crowing in triumph in his mind. "It's the least I could do. You've been going through a trying time."

"Still. Thank you. If there's ever anything I can do to repay you..."

Shaw inclined his head. "No, Charles," he said, not willing to break the delicate situation. "You have to do nothing to repay me."

The younger man inclined his head slightly before finding a book and settling in a chair nearby, not saying anything further. There was no hope of life returning to what it had been, but he would keep his head up and make sure everyone thought he was as fine as he had been when the world belonged to him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Songs for this chapter are I Will Be There, Every Day a Little Death, and When the World Was Mine


	3. Buy the Justice That We Seek

Years had passed, and eventually, though he still made the marks, Erik stopped counting them on the wall. He did not want to know how many years had passed, feeling the season's weather through his small window. He knew winter because it was cold, and summer because it was hot.

Over time, he'd started a tunnel from his cell, as much to escape—all he could think of worthwhile was revenge and Charles—as to give him something to do or he'd go mad as the men around him in other cells had.

One day he angled the tunnel up, only to run into more stones. Thinking it might be the courtyard, he waited for night before moving them aside, poking his head through. Disappointment met him when he realized he was just in another cell.

The man in the cell startled from where he had just been curling up to try and get some sleep. His brown eyes widened at the sight of Erik, but seemed far less perturbed than he perhaps ought to have been, "Good heavens. Where did you come from, my friend?"

"Hell would be the only apt descriptor," Erik replied, glancing around the cell and just about to give up the world as hopeless before pausing. He had not spoken to another human except snippets with the guards in years.

"Well, I don't know as I'd quite go that far, though I fear this place is the step before eternal damnation. Come, join me, you seem to have had a similar idea to my own," the older man brushed a lock of hair away from his face and offered Erik a lopsided smile that seemed out of place in the cell, but not on his features.

Shifting, Erik frowned slightly at him before pulling himself all the way from the tunnel and sitting nearby it rather than going across the cell to the other. "Who are you?" he asked, his voice hoarse from disuse.

"My name is Kurt Wagner. And you?"

"Erik Lehnsherr," he replied after several moments. "A name tells me nothing of who you are."

Kurt smiled again at that, "Before? I was an Abbé, a friend to many, and a philosopher when I had the time. Now? I am a nameless prisoner like yourself, condemned to live the rest of my life in this cell, trying to buy my freedom."

Pulling his knees up to his chest, Erik considered him. "What did you do?" he asked after a hesitation.

"Do? Nothing that one should be condemned to life in prison for. I refused to disclose the location of a fabled treasure, as though anyone actually knows its location," Kurt shook his head, "And you, Erik?"

He managed not to laugh derisively. "They told me I betrayed the country," he scowled.

"And did you?" Came the cleric's quiet, yet skeptical question.

"As far as I ever knew? No," he replied, shaking his head.

"Well, then it's little wonder you ended up here."

He snorted at that. "Is this where they hide all the people they don't want to see again?"

"Very good guess." Kurt shook his head, "There are plenty of prisons and headsmen on the mainland to deal with traitors and criminals. Here, though? This is special. This is for those of us that are not to be seen again."

Erik snorted. "So long as justice prevails," he muttered.

Kurt actually laughed at that, "Oh, Justice. Blind to the miscarriage of it around her."

Considering the man in front of him again, Erik nodded. "You said you had something like the same idea as me," he said after another few moments.

"The tunnel." Kurt indicated the hole that Erik had just come out of before rising and moving over to a corner of his cell and levering a stone up, "I've started my own, though I have made less progress on it than I might wish." Shifting, Erik peered at the hole himself, comparing it to his own tunnel. "It's going in the other direction from yours, so it might be worth a try."

Erik considered and nodded. "If nothing else, to give us both something to do."

"Indeed. I find that between that and my time spent with studies I have grown rather lonesome for actual company. It is good to meet you, Erik. If I haven't yet said that."

"You as well," he murmured, not sure if it was. "Studies?" he asked.

Kurt motioned to the place where he had been curling up to sleep, indicating a few books, "It's not much, but considering the superstitious lot of the jailors I've been able to talk them into finding me books in exchange for prayers for their souls or those of their loved ones."

Erik raised a brow at that before finally rising from his crouched position enough to go over and look at the small offering of books. The books there were each in a different language, though there were two in the German tongue, one of philosophy and one simply a book of fables.

Erik tilted his head. "You can read all these languages?" he asked.

The other man nodded, "Yes. I grew up speaking one of them and the others I have learned over the years."

Tapping the cover of a book, Erik glanced over at him. "Are you a good teacher?"

Kurt considered and then nodded, "I think I am, but I suppose you shall have to tell me once I have taught you, hm?"

Finally, Erik smiled faintly. "Yes, I'll have to let you know."

"If you are up for it, the guards will not be back tonight. We could begin now, if you like."

Mentally calculating the time and how tired he was, Erik nodded. "So long as I am back before the morning check in."

"And have some sleep before then," Kurt agreed. "Which language would you like to begin with?"

"German," he said, considering the volumes.

"My native tongue," the cleric smiled and picked up one of the volumes.

"Well, you should be quite good at it then," Erik said, finally smiling faintly.

M-M-M-M

Several months later—at least, he thought it was months but he'd stopped counting the marks on his wall—Erik looked up from one of the German books. "What sort of treasure were you sent here for?" he asked.

Kurt glanced up from the Latin text he was reading over, "It was a vast treasure, rumored to be hidden on some island off the Italian coast. Gold, jewels, enough for a hundred men to live comfortably for the rest of their lives. Or so the legend said."

"They sent you here for a legend?" he asked with a frown.

"No. They sent me here for a real treasure that is only slightly exaggerated by a legend," Kurt grinned. "But they never will know where it is."

"But you do?" Erik asked with a raised brow.

"Why do you think they came to me in the first place? Of course I know." The German priest looked almost indignant at the implication that he didn't.

"You should have fled," Erik murmured. "You could have paid your way to another country. What was the treasure like then?"

"I had no way to get the treasure, no real use for it. The treasure itself though, chests, a dozen of them at least, filled to bursting with gold, pearls, and gems." His eyes lit, his voice almost wistful as he remembered the wealth, "It was beautiful, and tempting."

"Do you not believe in temptation?" Erik asked.

"Believe in it?" Kurt arched a brow, "Of course I believe in it. I am a priest, not a saint."

Erik smiled at that. "Do you remember where the treasure is?"

Kurt smiled slyly before carefully opening the cover of a book in Spanish and edging the front page off from where it was attached to the cover with wax from a candle he'd talked the guards into getting him ages ago. Inside the carefully made pocket was a map. He held it out to the other man, "Even better."

Eyes widening, Erik handled the map carefully. "I know these islands," he murmured, turning it to look for a better angle.

"Do you indeed?"

He nodded again. "I was a sailor for years," he said. "They are not the nearest islands but one of them has a stream so we would put in there from time to time."

"Well, should we get out of here we shall have to see about finding this treasure, hm? I certainly cannot return to my life as a cleric in any near locale after being condemned here. And you, my friend, cannot return to your old life, either I fear."

Something dark twisted in Erik's face. "No, I could not return to my old life," he murmured. "Perhaps part of it." Some small part of him wanted to believe Charles was still waiting.

"You speak very little of the life you lived before, Erik. Tell me of it?"

For a long moment the taller man did not respond. "Well, I was a sailor. I lived my life on the sea. Lived in a small port town with my father for many years. My mother has been dead for the majority of my memory." He stopped again, stuttering out over what had happened the last few days of freedom, still unable to believe it.

Kurt leaned back against the wall opposite from Erik, "Surely there is something good within your recent life before these stone walls?"

Erik looked down. "Too much good. Surely I should have known something was going to go wrong."

"There is no such thing as too much good, Erik," came the quiet response.

He snorted. "The world disagrees. I was to be promoted to captain of my own ship the two days before I was sent here. The guards found me in a Church halfway through my wedding ceremony."

Kurt shook his head, "If you go through your life believing that, you will end your days a lonely, bitter old man. If you survive that long."

Shaking his head, Erik turned his eyes back to the German book he'd been working through. "I fully expect myself to not survive that long."

"That is a great pity. You have so much potential, Erik. And we make it further in the tunnel every day."

"What am I supposed to use that potential for?" Erik asked, a little harshly.

"What do you intend to use it for is the question you  _should_  be asking," came the German's response.

"Revenge," he replied as if it was the simplest thing in the world.

"Revenge for what?"

"The people who sent me here."

"I think you're missing the question, Erik," Kurt looked at him over the top of the book he was reading.

"Sending me to die forgotten does not deserve revenge? Taking the person I love most in the world from me should not bring the fury I can muster down on their heads?"

"But  _why_  did they do these things, Erik? Without knowing their reasons you cannot know how to avenge yourself. Though in the end revenge only hurts the avenger." He added the last sentence more to himself than anything.

Erik certainly wasn't listening to the last sentiment. "Do their motivations really matter? They sent me here. Isn't that enough?"

Kurt sighed heavily, "What will you do for revenge, then, my friend?"

"They are, or were, all respectable members of society. I would tear them down like they did me."

"What do you know of them? And if I hear 'all respectable members of society' again, you can return to your own quarters for the rest of the day," his tone had taken on the timbre it held when he was lecturing Erik on philosophy or one of the sciences.

Erik arched a brow. "One of them, Cain Marko, was on the ship with me. He was just below me and had always hated me. The other, Sebastian Shaw, some minor nobility who would have his cousin for himself. Jean de Villefort was a prosecutor of the crown. I... did not know her well. I meant to deliver a letter to her father and the next I saw it, it was burned before me."

"There you have your answers," Kurt nodded, looking back to his book.

"What answers?" Erik asked with a small frown.

"Why they would have done this to you."

"But that tells me nothing of my revenge. That only remains a distant fantasy."

"Cain Marko was just below you and participated in your denunciation after you were promoted. What does this tell you?"

"He is power hungry," Erik replied. "And a vile, selfish bastard."

"He's ambitious," the teacher corrected. "So he'll have made something of himself, likely in business if he's got a head on his shoulders. Work through what will hurt him the most." Kurt turned a page, "Now, de Villefort. Prosecutor of the crown. What letter did you deliver for her father?"

Erik's mouth twisted. "I was given the letter at Elba, when Napoleon lived there in exile. As far as I know it would have exposed her father as still sympathizing with him."

That actually drew Kurt's attention from his book, "And you say she burned the letter?"

"Yes," he replied.

"Protecting a loved one, do you think?"

"Her father I would suppose, or her own position."

"Which do you think is more likely? Think with your memories not your emotions."

Erik shrugged a little helplessly. "She was new, trying to solidify her position. If her father was exposed, it would have hurt her. I never saw her father so I could not tell how she felt about him."

"Then, following that logic, that she would destroy evidence of a possible treasonous act for her position, what would you do in a case of revenge?" He returned to his reading.

Erik frowned slightly, considering that. "Lose her position."

"Very good, work at her reputation, not her wealth." He paused for a long moment, having a feeling of exactly what sort of dangerous ground he was going to be treading on next. "Now, Shaw."

Instantly Erik's eyes darkened. "Yes?"

"His motive."

"He believed I was not a good enough match for his cousin. I lacked the status, and he wished Charles to be his own. It was obvious to everyone but Charles."

"His weakness?" Kurt's questions came as though he were quizzing the other on a verb's conjugations.

"Status, wealth, power," Erik ticked off. "Charles possibly."

"So, what is your  _best_  method with him?"

"Take away his prestige?" Erik offered with a slight frown.

"Take away that which he holds of most value," Kurt corrected. "Shaw will be your most difficult of the three, with de Villefort as your simplest. At least in some ways."

Considering that, Erik nodded. "I suppose that makes sense. After all, he is the one I hate the most. It could almost be considered poetic justice."

"It could. You will have to get close to him, find a way in so that you can discover where he places the highest value," another page turned.

"For how much you disliked me speaking on this topic, you certainly are being quite helpful," Erik mused, giving him a long look.

Kurt shook his head, "I think you could do far better for yourself, but I myself had many plans of revenge for many years."

"Oh?" Erik asked.

The other man nodded, "Yes. I have told you before and I tell you again. I am a priest, not a saint."

"Yes, but who would you take your revenge against?"

"Why the men who sent me here, of course. Now, though, if the guards are to be believed, they're all dead. I can only hope they died unshriven."

Erik's mouth twisted slightly. "Amen to that at least."

"Ah well. Some live with the knowledge that revenge is out of reach and I've come to determine that in the end it is hardly worth the trouble. Now then, we ought to work with your Latin, it's still far too rusty."

Mouth twisting again, Erik set aside the German book, crossing his legs to go over the Latin.

M-M-M-M

Years passed in much this way, Erik learning languages and literature as their pile of books grew. It was not a respectable library, but it gave him more knowledge than he'd had before. Their tunnel progressed slowly, having caved in once and run in to other setbacks.

One day, Erik crawled into his friend's room, looking more worn than he had been when they first met.

Kurt lay curled in one corner, his gaze flickering toward Erik as the other man climbed out of the tunnel between their cells. He offered him a wan smile, "Good day to you."

Erik tilted his head. "Are you feeling alright?" he murmured, coming to the other's bedside.

He shook his head very slightly, "No. I-I fear the years here have finally caught me."

"What?" Erik asked, coming over quicker. "Kurt, you know better than to talk that way."

"Erik," the German shook his head very slightly. "We knew it would happen someday. It's just a bit sooner than I planned."

"But," he protested and shook his head. "Can I do anything to help?"

"Not in a place like this, Erik." Kurt sighed, though his body rebelled at that and he ended up doubled over in a cough. Once he'd recovered his breath he spoke again, his voice hoarse, "There's nothing for a man to do in a place like this but die. You-you have to get out of here. You've so much potential. The world is spread before you. Just...let me rest, Erik. I've waited so long for it."

"But," Erik started again and brought himself up short this time. "I'll always remember our lessons," he murmured.

Kurt offered him a weak smile, "Then let me leave one more with you. Learn to  _live_ , Erik. Revenge leads only to destruction. Forgive. It's a freedom in itself. As long as you pursue them they've won. They've imprisoned your future as much as they have your present."

The taller man looked away before forcing himself to turn back. "I will try," he said quietly. "I will try to put this all behind me."

The priest nodded slightly, closing his eyes with another sigh, "That's all I can ask." He motioned toward the book that he had re-sealed years before, "I leave you the map. Use the gold wisely, do good with it. For others and then for yourself."

"I will," he said. "I'll do everything I can for your memory."

Kurt reached for Erik's hand, giving it a weak squeeze, "I hope to see you again in many, many year's time." He offered another faint smile, "Leave me to sleep, I have peace to make with my Lord."

"I don't want to leave you alone," Erik said quietly. "You've been alone too much of your life."

"You're a good man, Erik Lehnsherr. Do not let anything convince you otherwise," his voice was growing weaker by the moment. He offered up a silent prayer, the closest he could come to last rites in a place like this.

Erik just reached forward to hold his hand, letting him make whatever peace he needed to.

Kurt's brown eyes closed and he breathed his last—free for the first time in years.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Your song for this chapter is When We Are Kings


	4. Masquerading as Duty and Honor

Venice was in full Carnival season, people with masks running through the streets and gallivanting around with no care in the world. Having asked permission to come as a way to escape from France, Hank McCoy was trying his hardest to enjoy himself.

It had been a battle with his adopted father to come, but now that he was here, mask itching across his face, he really wasn't sure why he wanted to be there, except for the preparations for him to come of age going on at home still.

Alex Summers took one look at the crowd and shook his head firmly, mask still in his hand, "No way. I am not going out there. You do it."

Raven Darkhölm adjusted her skirt, rolling her eyes, "We've been over this. You're our best shot. Now put on the damn mask."

"And if I don't?"

"Then he'll have an easier time identifying his kidnapper."

Alex offered her a scowl before putting the mask on and pulling his hat on as well to hide most of his blond hair before pushing his way into the mass of people. Raven smirked before slipping away to the arranged location. Alex wove through the crowd, trying to locate the correct costume. He finally found it when he literally ran into the youth wearing it.

Hank stumbled back, murmuring an almost shocked apology.

Alex was grateful his mask hid most of his features, he shook his head, "No. My fault. I wasn't watching where I was going."

Listening to him, Hank tilted his head slightly. "It's alright. I mean there are a lot of people."

"Still, it was clumsy of me," Alex remembered to trip over the inflections on certain words, adding just the right accent to hide his natural one.

"Well, yes," Hank agreed, blinking.

Alex's brown gaze flickered over the other's form and costume, "You're here with friends, I assume?"

"Well, I," he flailed. "Not really. You?"

"No, not tonight." He looked around, "What do you say to finding somewhere to talk, since we're both on our own. I at least owe you a drink or something for running into you."

Drawing back slightly Hank scanned the crowds, considering how crazy he was about to be and finally nodded. "You don't really, but if you like..."

"I would like," he offered the other a grin, "Come on, I know just the place." Starting to weave back through the crowd he glanced over his shoulder to make sure the other was following.

Hesitating again Hank shrugged before following. Alex reached the edge of the crowd and glanced back again before slipping down a side street, Raven should be on the next block.

That almost stopped Hank short. "It's sort of, empty out here isn't it?"

Great, the one person at carnival who didn't have enough alcohol in him to not question his judgment. "It's a couple streets over, but very few people use it. It's quieter." Alex's hand moved to a dagger as he spoke again, "If you're worried about bandits you needn't be."

Hank blinked, tilted his head and nodded again. What was life without some adventure? Down dark streets with a stranger.

Alex turned to continue on, hiding his smirk. Oh naïveté, it aided his job so very much. He led the way down the alley and around a corner, ducking out of the way so Raven would have quicker access to knock Hank over the head. Almost ready to draw back, Hank continued following him. As soon as she had a decent angle, Raven brought the makeshift club she was using down on the youth's head. She had enough leverage to knock him out but not to do much more than that. "Alright, we've got to work fast. That won't keep him out for long."

A while later, Hank woke up with a groan. "Never, ever being adventurous again," were the first words out of his mouth followed by a whimper. Looking around, he winced at the cave.

Raven was perched just out of sight in the shadows, the only thing catching the light at that moment was the dagger she kept twirling in her hand. They couldn't risk either of them being seen, or their voices recognized, "Now, there's no need to be like that."

Freezing, Hank's muscle's tensed. His eyes were drawn to the dagger. "What's there a need to be like then?" he asked, voice small.

"Really, as soon as we get what we're looking for we'll let you go," she smirked.

"What are you looking for?" he asked quickly.

"Ransom," came Alex's voice, still accented. He leaned against the wall in the shadows behind Hank.

"Oh you're kidding," he said, letting his head thud against the wall behind him.

"Come, it can't be that surprising," Raven remarked. "After all, Carnival draws all the wealthy young pups."

"Can't you find a different young pup?" he asked, voice a little strained.

"Already have you. Getting the message sent even now."

All he could think about for a terrified moment was the look of pure fury that would show up on Sebastian Shaw's face. Hank wondered how Charles always seemed to miss that look, and the disappointed look he'd get from Charles went through his mind as well. "Why can't you be the normal bandits that just want to kill or rape?"

That got a laugh, "Kill or rape? That's honestly what you think? We're in it for the money, kid. Most people are."

Hank made another distressed sound.

Alex glanced around, this was taking longer than it should. He sighed very quietly, knowing their employer's preference for an entrance. "We could always speed up the possible ransom's arrival."

"We could? How?" Hank asked. Really, he wanted out of this as quickly as possible.

"Send them proof you're alive of course," he replied.

"An ear usually works," Raven helpfully suggested.

Hank attempted to jerk back at that, only banging his back on the stone wall behind him harder. "Never mind."

She twirled the knife again, "I don't know. I tend to prefer fingers myself."

Alex rolled his eyes, moving over to Hank, his mask from earlier still in place, "Would be a shame to cut an ear or a finger off, but the ransom really is needed and tends to be slower without proof I suppose."

Turning terrified blue eyes up at him, Hank shuffled back as far as the chains would allow.

Just then a bang and crash was heard, and a false sounding yelp.

Alex managed a passably believable startle at that sound. He glanced toward where Raven had stilled, "Watch him, I'll go check on that." Before she could suggest maybe doing things the other way round he was gone, headed toward the sound.

Hank blinked wide eyes after him before glancing back at the shadowy form with the knife.

Another crashing sound could be heard.

"Incompetent fools," she muttered, rising and slinking through the shadows.

Hank shifted, looking around the empty room in fear and hope. Finally, a man appeared with a torch. He was tall and slender, wearing fine cut clothes, and holding a drawn sword.

"You have fallen in with bad company, I fear," the stranger told Hank as he moved over to Hank, undoing what held him to a wall.

"I'm sorry," Hank replied all but automatically. "Who are you?"

"Call me friend. Or if you need another title, the Count of Monte Cristo should do."

"That's hardly a proper name," Hank protested.

The grey eyes grew shadowed for a moment, or maybe it was the flicker of the torch. "No, it isn't."

M-M-M-M

Several days later, Hank was happily back on his own doorstep. Or rather, intact on his own doorstep but unsure about whether he was happy to be there or not. Charles had seen the carriage pull up out front and hurried down the stairs to meet the young man in the foyer as one of the servants let him in, "Hank, it's good to have you home. Did you have a good trip?"

"Is Sebastian around?" Hank asked, offering the man who had adopted him a warm smile.

The older man shook his head, suppressing a sigh, "No, he's out for the day."

"Oh. Well, I got kidnapped and almost ransomed," Hank said, not willing to have explained that one in front of Shaw.

Charles' blue eyes widened, "Good Lord, are you alright?"

Hank nodded a little quickly. "I might have been cured of any desire to travel, but yes. Someone came to my rescue."

"Thank heavens. Who?"

"I don't really know. Tall, grey eyes, red hair, about your age maybe..."

Charles' mind flickered over that description, locking onto someone who could fulfill it, mostly, but that was impossible. "Did you not get a name for your savior, Hank?"

He shook his head. "He just called himself the Count of Monte Cristo. I can't place Monte Cristo, can you?"

A look of what may have been disappointment flitted across Charles' features, but he shook his head, "No, it's not any title I recognize."

Tilting his head, hank considered his expressions. "Are you alright?"

Charles offered him a smile, one of his frequent ones that didn't reach his eyes, "Of course I am, why do you ask?"

Hank wanted to say because Charles had his social smile on, not his real one, but just shrugged. The other man arched an eyebrow, but didn't ask again, as he wasn't sure he wanted an answer. "Well, you've had quite the adventurous trip. You must be tired?"

"Very," Hank agreed and paused. "Well, the buildings in Venice were beautiful."

"Up until the nearly being ransomed part did you enjoy yourself?"

"Do I have to say yes?" Hank asked.

"No. I prefer honest answers," Charles replied, "you know that."

"I'll have to say yes to Sebastian."

That was greeted with a sigh, "Yes, you will, but if you didn't like it, you're welcome to answer with a 'no' to me."

"Alright. As I said, it's a beautiful city. But when traveling people frown upon you sitting around and sketching up facades," he sighed. "So, I liked enough of it."

Charles offered him a fond smile at that, "It really is a shame you didn't have someone to travel with. It often helps, I'm told."

"You haven't traveled with someone?" Hank asked.

He shook his head, "Sebastian's always busy, and besides, I've had no desire to go anywhere for years." The lie slid smoothly off his tongue.

Hank frowned slightly. "Are you sure you don't want to? We could try it sometime..."

Charles smiled faintly, but shrugged, "Perhaps we could. I certainly wouldn't say no to at least considering it."

Swallowing, Hank nodded. "Give me time to recover from this one first."

"Yes, recovery from this past trip is certainly a good idea." The older man sighed, glancing at a clock, "Well, if Sebastian is actually home on time, you have a little over an hour to figure out what to tell him and what not to."

"That will be a pleasure, as it always is," Hank sighed quietly.

"I know...I'll be here to support you as always."

Hank offered him a quiet smile. "It's not so bad." So long as Charles was actually there.

Charles arched an eyebrow at that, but finally nodded.

"Really," Hank gave him a smile. "Do you think I have enough time to nap or just change?"

"Go see about getting a short nap. I'll have one of the servants let you know when Sebastian gets home."

"Thank you. It's good to be back."

"It's good to have you back." Charles offered him another slight smile, "Sleep well, Hank."

"Thank you," he repeated and went up the stairs quickly.

The older man watched him go before retreating to the front parlor and locating a book. He settled in to wait for Sebastian to arrive home.

It was in fact another hour past the time Charles expected him home that Sebastian Shaw actually appeared however. The butler informed him that Charles was waiting for him, and that young Master Hank had arrived home. All but swaggering into the room with Charles, Shaw leaned against the doorframe.

Charles finished the page he was reading before marking his place and closing the book. He looked up finally, "Hello, Sebastian. You're later than I expected."

Shaw shrugged a shoulder. "I'm sorry. Was there something you had wanted me for?"

"No, but you could have at least sent word that you would be late. Hank's been home for hours."

Shaw's brow lifted. "Did he enjoy the trip?"

"As far as I know, yes," Charles lied smoothly.

"Well, good for him," Shaw said with a shrug. "He certainly spent enough of our money on it."

Charles gave him a long look at that, "Travel is a good thing for a young man to experience."

"I paid for it, didn't I? What more would you like from me?"

The younger man sighed, "I'm just saying, it was money well spent."

"That's worth something then, I suppose," Shaw said, finally coming into the room and sitting down.

"Where were you this evening?" Charles reached for his book again.

"At a club meeting," Shaw replied, noticing but not entirely remarking on his cold reception. "Have you spoken to the boy about this party yet?"

"Not yet. I was going to do so later. I felt it better to let him rest after his journey home."

"I suppose that's true, but it is coming up soon."

"It is. Was there anything specific you wanted me to say to him in regards to it, Sebastian?" Charles opened his book, turning his attention to it.

"The date, the fact he shall be coming of age," Shaw said, not adding "the price."

"I'll mention it," Charles nodded, ignoring the thought he was sure the other was having regarding the cost to the pocketbook.

"Has he given you any indication for his plans when he is of age?" Shaw asked.

Charles finished his paragraph and kept his gaze focused on the page even after that, "He's not said much. Though he would like some say in his engagement." There was a pause before he continued, "And he would prefer to keep his surname."

There was a long silence from Shaw's chair. "It was your idea to adopt the boy when you found him," he said slowly. "But why should I support him and make him any sort of an heir if he won't even take my name?"

Charles drew a deep breath before laying down his book yet again, "You can hardly begrudge him wishing to keep his parents' name. It's all he has left of them, Sebastian."

"And he cannot even bother to make me a good match out of that?" Shaw asked, attacking the other point.

"I didn't say he wouldn't make a good match. I said he wanted some say in his engagement. I certainly agree with him as regards Mademoiselle de Villefort."

"The de Villeforts are a great connection," Shaw protested.

"Her mother is insufferably stiff, and I don't care for the family. Connection or not, there's something about them that I cannot abide."

Something passed behind Shaw's eyes. "Our connection with them has only ever been of advantage."

"And we have that connection, so I see no reason to engage Hank to Emma," Charles remarked, ignoring the expression that he'd seen before when the de Villeforts were discussed.

Shaw narrowed his eyes and didn't respond, crossing his arms over his chest

The other man sighed softly, "Really, Sebastian. There are other families of equal prestige and connection, some with even higher. The de Villeforts are hardly the be all to end all."

"Should I not act like his father?" Shaw demanded. "Should he not do as I demand?"

"A father should not 'demand', Sebastian. He's not a servant to be ordered around. He's our son."

The older man bit back what he wanted to say and finally nodded. "You're right," he said, managing to sound charming.

Charles offered him a faint smile, one of the ones that didn't go anywhere near his eyes. Sebastian wasn't privy to his genuine smiles often, and it had become even more rare in more recent years. Which would have required Shaw to really notice or care. He rose, going to the sideboard and considering the alcohol options. The younger man sighed softly, returning to his book. He ought to send a servant to let Hank know that Sebastian was home, but he honestly didn't want to act as referee to parts of that conversation.

A short while later, when Shaw was settled down with a brandy, Hank slipped into the room, offering Charles a smile and Shaw a bow of his head. Charles glanced up, offering the youth a gentle smile in response, and set his book aside with the intention of leaving it there.

"Welcome home," Shaw said.

"Thank you, sir," Hank replied, offering a small smile there.

"Did you enjoy the trip?" Shaw asked.

"But of course," he agreed, voice a little too quick.

Glancing from one to the other, Charles motioned to a chair nearer his than Sebastian's, "Won't you join us for a while, Hank?"

Hank gave him a half panicked look before sitting down quickly.

Charles drew a set chess table over, "Join me in a game?"

That made Hank look a little happier, and he moved over. Shaw gave them a long look and went back to what he had been doing earlier. Charles offered Hank a slight, but finally genuine smile as he started the game.


	5. Fashioned In Cold Blood

Looking around the port city, the Count of Monte Cristo wrapped his arms around himself, as much to keep the cold out as anything. He moved quietly through the streets, unsure where to look or what to do, before finally reaching the door he'd been looking for. A young man opened the door, on his way out as evidenced by the coat he wore and the hat perched on his brown hair. He startled slightly at the sight of the elegantly dressed man in front of him, "Oh, pardon me, Monsieur. Can I help you with something?"

"Is this Monsieur Morrel's house?" the Count asked, blinking at the boy.

The youth eyed him warily, "It is. Who may I tell him is calling?"

"An old friend should hopefully suffice."

The boy frowned, but finally nodded, stepping back so that the man could enter. "If you'll follow me?"

The Count took his hat off in the doorway, quietly following the youth.

The younger man led him into a small sitting room, "Father? There's a man here who says he's an old friend of yours."

Sean Morrel looked up his gaze moving to the man in the doorway, though he spoke to his son, "Thank you, Scott. I didn't realize you were still here."

Scott nodded slightly, "I was just on my way out. If you don't mind of course, Father?"

"Of course not. Go, enjoy your evening."

The youth offered his father a flickering smile and slipped out past the stranger, closing the front door as his father finally addressed the guest. "An 'old friend', monsieur?"

The Count looked the older man over for a moment. "I said one could say that," he murmured.

"Come, sit down, join me." Sean motioned to a chair near him, "Do I have a name to address you by?"

"You may, along with everyone else, call me the Count of Monte Cristo. I was here looking for information on a man I believe to have once worked under you," he replied, sitting down in the offered chair, keeping his grey gaze on the other.

The older man managed not to frown, "Alright then, Monsieur. If I can answer your questions I shall."

The Count shifted, as if for the first time feeling at all uncomfortable. "A man, years ago, worked for you, named Erik Lehnsherr. I was wondering any information you might have had regarding him or... those close to him."

Sean sighed, shaking his head, "If you're seeking him, I'm afraid you're looking in the wrong place, Monsieur. Erik Lehnsherr has been dead for fifteen years now. He was accused of something many of us doubt he actually did, but was killed in some form of accident before we could prove it."

The Count blinked once. "He does not appear to have been forgotten, however."

"He was a fine young man. Had his entire life ahead of him. It was a tragedy really."

"Do you know anything of those that were close to him?" the Count asked after a moment. "I... knew him briefly while he was imprisoned. I want to help those he cared for."

"I suppose that depends on who you mean. He was in love with a young man, Charles Xavier I believe. Charles moved to Paris years ago with his husband," the old man sighed, shaking his head. "Those of us who knew them didn't expect him to recover from the loss, but he did evidently."

Again, the Count blinked once. "Did he change his name when he married? I would like to be able to look up his address."

"Yes, he did. You shouldn't have any difficulty looking up the Monsieurs Shaw in Paris. Sebastian Shaw has always been one to aim for notoriety if he can."

The man sitting in the other chair froze completely. For a moment his chest didn't move and he didn't even blink. "Sebastian Shaw," the frozen man managed finally.

"Do you know of him?" Sean asked quietly.

"I believe I've heard the name," he lied smoothly, moving a hand through the air as if to dismiss it. "I just wanted to make sure I had the correct name."

That garnered an arched eyebrow, "Good to know. Is there anything else I can help you with?"

"Erik spoke highly of you. For a service he did me, I was wondering if there is anything in the world you could desire or need help with?"

Sean hesitated for a long moment before shaking his head, "I...thank you, but I could not ask anything of that sort of a stranger, Monsieur."

"You may ask anything of me, Monsieur, that you could have asked Erik for. Consider me him if you need to."

The man's bow arched again but he finally sighed, "My ships have been lost at sea. My son's fallen for an elegant young lady of means. I've no way to help him with that, nothing to leave him. I would ask for your aid for Scott."

"Who is the young lady?" the Count asked. "And perhaps I could help finance your next ship if you need."

"Her name is Emma de Villefort, the public prosecutor's only child." He hesitated again, "I would be forever in your debt for that, Monsieur."

The Count's spine had tensed at the mention of de Villefort, but he offered the ship owner a smile. "Financing is no real concern. I have the funds and after all, when the cargo comes in, I shall gain by it as well."

Sean inclined his head, "That is true. I would appreciate the sponsorship. Thank you, Monsieur."

He inclined his head. "I shall ask around for other offers as well," he murmured.

"Merci." The older man offered him a grateful smile. He couldn't seem to find anything more to say.

It was all the Count seemed to want to hear. His smile looked almost genuine for a moment and then he rose. "I must away. I am expected at Paris by the end of the day."

Sean rose as well, "Of course. Have a safe journey, Monsieur."

"Thank you," the Count said, tipping his hat as he put it back on. "I shall write about the funds."

"Thank you, so very much, Monsieur."

Smiling again, the nobleman nodded and went to the door of the house. Sean saw him out, closing the door behind him and leaning against it for a long moment, having difficulty believing that that had actually happened.

Once outside, the Count climbed into his carriage that was waiting to take him to Paris, thudding against the back of the seat. Raven looked at him from where she was perched _inside_  the carriage rather than on the box with Alex, "You look as though you've seen a ghost. I thought you were supposed to be the one causing that expression."

"He hardly recognized me. He believes Erik Lehnsherr died fifteen years ago," Erik replied, using his cane to rap on the side of the carriage, indicating Alex to start driving.

The carriage jolted slightly as it started toward Paris. Raven shook her head, "Well, I'm certain you've changed. And if you're believed dead it will make your plan easier, as anyone will dismiss similar appearances to their imagination."

Erik turned his gaze away. "The villains who wear smile on their faces, you mean? I can only hope to turn the tables against them."

"You'll do it. Though I still don't understand why you need to be so elaborate about it. Alex and I...well,  _I_  could just go up to Paris, off them for you and call it done. You're rich. You have the chance to start from scratch. Why not take it?"

"I want to strike a match and watch them burn on the pyre of my obsession," he replied, looking out the window.

"Obsession is a good word for it. Have you considered this is maybe an unhealthy fixation?"  Raven arched an eyebrow and picked at the white lace on her cuff.

That got his gaze back on her, but he looked far from impressed. "I'll carry hell to their doorstep," he replied. "They sent me into damnation and deserve only the same. I'll bring the Chateau D'If knocking on their doors."

Raven's look was equally unimpressed, "Yes, so you've said in a half dozen ways over the last few years."

"It's been three years since I escaped that hell and met you. In that time, did you not get to know me well? Did you really think I would give any of this up so close to fulfilling my goals?"

"I thought it was worth a try." She replied, "Besides, you've also mentioned someone you cared about. Deeply. Loved even, though you've yet to actually confirm that so I think that's mostly my own suspicion. Why not just locate that person and end this? There's no reason to destroy what's left of your life."

"Love is a lie," he snapped, voice going even colder than it had been before. "Swearing that no matter what it won't die? It only disappears in the hard light of morning, like stars disappearing from the sky. But why should I care about that?"

The woman frowned, "What did that old man tell you about the one you loved?" His vehemence had confirmed her suspicions.

He looked away just as abruptly as he'd burst out. "What does it matter?" he asked. "They married someone else."

"Because I want to make certain that we've still only got three targets in the end. You have an elaborate plan, likely too elaborate, and anything diverging from that will throw it completely off-kilter, you know that, right? Especially if you do something rash out of jealousy."

"Jealousy?" Erik shook his head. "His husband is a target."

That brought her up short, "His  _husband_  is one of the ones who betrayed you?"

Erik just about growled. "He married Sebastian Shaw."

Raven's eyes widened, "Good heavens..."

Something glinted in Erik's eyes. "The plan remains unchanged, except possibly getting at de Villefort in a different way."

"Remains un..." She sighed, shaking her head, "How else are you thinking of getting at her?"

"Morrel's son is in love with her daughter. Considering how much status means to her, her daughter marrying beneath her station should suit her well."

"That would be quite the turn. Of course, if Morrel's son is in this port, and de Villefort and her daughter are currently in Paris there's probably a bit of a hitch in that plan."

"He was leaving the house as I walked in," Erik replied. "It's not too far a ride by horse."

Raven smiled at that, shaking her head, "If he's willing to travel to Paris on horseback at this hour to see her, you'll have hardly any work left to you on that front."

"No, but I can make sure the marriage happens."

"Very true. Interesting how this revenge thing actually is ending up happy for  _someone_  at least."

Erik shrugged. "Perhaps. Maybe they'll find they hate each other. I hardly care."

She arched an eyebrow, "You show amazing promise of becoming an incredibly bitter man. No, scratch that. You already are."

His grey eyes turned to her for a long moment. "You're sixteen years too late to change that," he said quietly.

"I'm not trying to. I'm just saying you are, and it's sad to see."

His expression just hardened. "Then sell my life story to the writer of an Opera. I'm sure it will be quite popular."

She rolled her eyes and turned to look out the opposite window, "Fine. I'm done trying to talk any sort of sense anywhere near your hearing, because obviously none of it even remotely comes close to being heard much less listened to."

Not bothering to respond to that, Erik turned his gaze back to the landscape, watching it go by, taking him closer to what could only be his revenge.

M-M-M-M

Scott reined his horse in and dismounted, tying it to a tree before slipping toward the mansion. He glanced around before taking aim and tossing a pebble up to bounce off the window frame of the right window. It was late, but Emma should still be awake.

The curtain twitched aside and a small candle floated up to the window, coming outside as the window opened and Emma leaned out. "Scott," she said, not quite smiling but looking pleased with her entire posture. "You're late."

He offered her an apologetic smile, "Sorry, there was a visitor as I was on my way out. It took a bit longer to get away."

"I may be pressed upon to forgive you," she mused, still leaning out the window.

"Can I appeal to your better nature for that forgiveness?" He asked with another smile, "Or shall I have to find some other way?"

"Groveling or roses might help," she replied sweetly. "Would you like me to come down?"

"If you can come down without your mother knowing," Scott answered. "Will bringing the roses tomorrow night work?"

"I can give you an advance in that forgiveness between now and then," she assured, before turning to glance at something. "A moment," she said, and the window closed, the light disappearing. Several minutes later she appeared at one of the side doors, propping it open before coming out.

Scott had slipped over nearer that door while waiting for her to come down, "I'm sorry I haven't been up as much of late, Emma."

She moved a bit closer, though still just out of touching distance. "I've been terribly vexed with you," she said, though with a touch of teasing, before turning serious. "Has something been going on?"

"Father still hasn't heard from any of his ships or crews. So, nothing new. I've just been needed at home a bit more, is all." He shook his head before offering her a bit of a smile, "What about you, what have I missed during my absence?"

"There's another party in three days time," she said, face twisting slightly into a pout. "For Hank McCoy, heir of the Shaw estate. I think my mother is still pushing for our engagement."

Scott grimaced at that, "Is there a reason she's pushing that so hard?"

Emma rolled one graceful shoulder, wrapping the white dressing gown she was wearing a bit tighter. "She's always seemed to get along with Shaw, at least, Sebastian. I think she just wants me with someone advantageous to her."

Scott sighed at that thought, "Well, they are rich and a good name, if nothing else."

"That says nothing," she replied, tone rising slightly. "I mean, yes, it says something, but I hardly want to marry him." She rested her hand lightly on Scott's arm.

He offered her a half smile, covering her hand with his, "I'm hardly going to win your mother's approval."

"You're the only one here who thinks you need it," she huffed. "What happened to running away?"

Scott sighed, "Emma, I have no way to provide for you yet. Beyond that...I don't trust your mother not to lash out when she does find out."

"What could she do if we were legally married?" Emma demanded.

"I..." He glanced away, "it's not  _us_  I'm worried about."

That brought the girl up short and she sighed. "You're worried about your father, aren't you?"

Scott finally nodded, "He's been through so much, and is still struggling."

She sighed, leaning her head on his shoulder. "I know, I know. I just don't want to be forced to marry some rich snob."

He wrapped his arms around her, holding her close, "I don't want to lose you to someone else, Emma. I..."

She sighed, cuddling up to him. "Yes?"

"I would marry you in a heartbeat if I could. You know that, right?"

"I'm feeling somewhat more reassured of the fact by the moment," she all but purred, tucking the top of her head under his chin.

He smiled softly again, his embrace tightening ever so slightly as he tilted his head to kiss the top of her head, "I love you, Emma."

That got a small smile out of her. "You speak such grand words," she drawled.

"Well, I do," he murmured. "I hate not being able to simply meet you by daylight, spending my days more than three hours' hard ride away."

She shifted slightly closer. "We could meet by daylight. It would just cause that scandal we're trying to avoid. Unless it was at a market, but even then I'd probably be chaperoned. Besides, the bonus of meeting at night is that white is really my best color and that's what you get to see me in."

He laughed quietly at that, "Yes, that scandal thing is rather a concern. And I like you in white, but I'd love to see you out of shadow, personally."

Tilting her head up, she cupped his cheek. "I wouldn't. I don't look so lovely in harsh light."

He shook his head, "You always look lovely, Emma." He hesitated before leaning down to kiss her briefly. "But the evening shadows do give you an ethereal quality."

"So long as I'm not compared to a fairy princess, I'm accepting of ethereal," she said and considered him a moment before leaning up and giving him more than just a brief kiss.

He had been readying himself to reply, but was cut off. He leaned down into the kiss, one of his hands moving up to twine in her hair, the other staying at her waist. Slipping both her hands up to his neck, one of them gently stroked his shoulder. He drew her gently closer, deepening the kiss. Emma hummed in the back of her throat at that.

Scott drew away for a breath, resting his forehead against hers, "How did I ever find a woman like you?"

"Well, I tend to be around the same places," she smiled, meeting his eyes. "I'm really not that hard to find. You just have to look."

That drew a quiet laugh from him, "I'm so very glad I did."

"So am I," she murmured. "Though you've just about ruined me for polite society."

"I...have?" He didn't sound like he was quite sure how to take that.

"Actually, I was ruined for polite society years ago. You just made it worse. I'm less inclined to put up with dithering people who think false compliments are the way to a girl's heart. You're honest. It's like the kiss of death to society."

Scott smiled slightly at that, shaking his head, "I'm glad it's my honesty then that's done it."

"It would be an annoying quality on anyone else," she nodded. "On you it's just charming."

He kissed her lightly again, "Good to know. I'll try to keep it in tact."

She smiled into the kiss. "Do that."

"Only if you promise me the same."

"What? Remain honest?"

"With me at least," he confirmed.

She smiled at that, leaning against him again. "I'll do my hardest. Society can go damn itself for all I care most days."

He smiled again, one hand moving to stroke her hair, "I should let you get to bed." Though he said that, Scott didn't loosen his arm from around her.

"I can sleep in," she shrugged off. "It's not like there's anything to be done in the morning. You came all this way for me after all."

"Very well. I will be here again tomorrow night too, if you are. I've a little bit of business to look into for Father tomorrow."

"Good," she said. "Be here then. With roses, if you wouldn't mind."

He grinned slightly at that, "I shall certainly return tomorrow, with roses."

Leaning in, she kissed him again.

M-M-M-M

The party to celebrate Hank McCoy's coming of age—still McCoy, not Shaw—was one of the most anticipated events of the social season. Sebastian Shaw and his charming spouse certainly knew how to throw parties after all, and this one was hoped to be excellent.

They were a little disappointment though as it seemed that Shaw had overnight become stingy with his purse strings for such a gala, but the decorations were still tasteful, the house still beautiful, and the guests hoped the food would be as good. Even if the party was not quite up to standards, well, all the important people were still there and still mostly enjoying themselves.

Emma de Villefort and Hank McCoy ran into each other once, gave the other an uncomfortable look, and quickly slipped the other way.

Charles made his way through the gathered party goers his "social smile" as Hank called it, firmly in place. It was already feeling like a long evening, and it had barely begun. He murmured yet another, "Thank you for coming, it's wonderful to see you here, how have you been?" to the gentleman he had just encountered and was hoping to leave it at that, but was almost immediately drawn into a lengthy conversation of the pros and cons of certain investments. He sighed to himself, but gave the man his attention even as he kept an eye out for Hank.

Looking around his own party with some satisfaction, Sebastian Shaw moved through the crowds, as much looking for Charles as any opportunities.

Charles saw his husband approaching and politely excused himself from the conversation he was entangled in so that he could meet the other man half way, "Sebastian."

"My darling," Shaw replied, more affectionate in public then he ever was in private. "Are you enjoying yourself?"

"Of course, dear," he returned endearment for endearment when they were offered in others' hearing. "It is a fine party, and the guests are enjoying themselves as well."

Shaw slipped an arm around Charles' waist. "Well it seems that all of said guests have arrived at least."

The smaller man's eyes widened at that, and he narrowly avoided startling at the touch, "I believe so. Are  _you_  enjoying yourself?"

"Of course, you know I love a good party," he replied.

Charles offered him a smile, nodding, "I do indeed." His gaze turned from his husband to scan over the crowd, "It still catches me off-guard how many people actually come rather than sending their regrets."

"Why does it surprise you?" Shaw asked.

"I don't know. I should be used to it by now. I suppose it's still my preference for more intimate gatherings."

Shaw opened his mouth to say something and stopped when the announcer stepped forward, announcing in his almost squeaky voice, "The Count of Monte Cristo."

"Who?" Shaw demanded as said Count appeared at the head of the stairs leading into the room. "I thought all the guests were here."

Charles frowned slightly, "I didn't realize he was in the city." He turned enough to actually look at the newly arrived guest, his eyes widening as he took in the other's appearance. It couldn't be.

"You've heard of him?" Shaw asked, turning to his spouse.

The Count came down the stairs, meeting Hank somewhere near the bottom.

"Hank met him on his trip to Venice," Charles answered softly. "We should go greet him, the other guests will find it strange if we don't."

Shaw arched a brow and finally slipped his hand from Charles' waist and moved over. Hank was speaking quickly to the new guest, who almost looked fond while listening to his chatter—at any rate the corner of his mouth was twisted up.

Charles approached, a couple of steps behind Sebastian, his gaze focused on the Count's face, still trying to convince himself that he had to be completely out of his mind.

As they got closer, the Count finally looked up and his expression closed off faster than a door slamming, his grey eyes totally freezing.

Those eyes. Stepping past his husband, Charles offered his hand to the newcomer, his gaze never wavering from its focus on the other man's face, "Monsieur, we're glad you could make it."

"Oh," Hank said quickly from the side. "This is the Count. He—" he realized he never told Shaw about that. "We met in Venice. I did not know he was going to be in Paris now though."

Shaw nodded, not sparing too much of a glance for him.

The Count remained frozen for a long moment before taking Charles' hand, his expression still shuttered. "I'm sure the pleasure is all mine," he replied, voice rumbling in his chest. His eyes couldn't remove themselves from Charles', even if they were closed off.

"A pleasure to meet you, Monsieur," there was a hint in Charles' tone that he was still trying to figure something out. "I wanted to thank you for—" remembering that Sebastian didn't know of the incident in Venice he amended quickly, "showing Hank the sights of Venice."

"It was the least I could do, I'm sure," the Count murmured, not having released Charles' hand.

"Still, thank you." Charles responded, his voice quiet.

Shaw looked between Charles, the Count and Hank, arching a brow. "Oh!" Hank said. "This is my other adopted father, Sebastian Shaw. And, well, I don't think you were actually introduced to the other either. You're... currently holding the hand of Charles Shaw."

When he heard Charles' married name the Count dropped the other's hand, drawing back finally.

A brief look of regret flashed across Charles' face as the Count released his hand, but he hid it quickly behind the smile that didn't reach his eyes. "It truly is a pleasure, Monsieur. I hope you enjoy your evening."

"I can only hope of finding something to enjoy," he replied, turning his gaze briefly to Shaw and inclining his head to him.

"When one looks for enjoyment they often find it, but those who don't seek it can't find it," Charles glanced at Sebastian briefly, reminding himself again that he was there.

"That's quite the philosophical statement at a party such as this," the Count replied, arching a brow slightly.

"Well, that is Charles," Shaw said, voice dry.

Charles' smile turned brittle at his husband's comment, but he inclined his head, "My apologies, I fear I wax toward the philosophical more than society considers necessary."

"Perhaps society just does not appreciate philosophy as much as it should," the Count said and then leaned back, as if regretting the words

The host opened his mouth, trying to find a reply, but finally dropped his gaze, his blue eyes focusing on the cut of the Count's coat, "Perhaps. Still, now is hardly the time or place."

Hank was the only one who noticed a twist in the Count's expression. Shaw had decided the other man not entirely worth his time, and was being distracted by another guest. "What is the time or place then?" the Count asked.

"To hear some tell it? Never and nowhere. Though, within a private meeting of friends it might be acceptable," Charles murmured, glancing toward Sebastian, shaking his head very slightly.

The Count followed his gaze, noticing the shaken head. "Is something the matter?"

"Hm? Oh, no. Of course not." Charles offered him the social smile again, "Everything's fine."

With a pause, the Count rolled his shoulder. "Of course," he murmured. "After all, everything is always fine, is it not?" Moments later Hank was called away by someone else, leaving the two of them as alone as they could be in the press of people.

"That entirely depends on one's definition of 'fine', Monsieur."

"What is yours then, pray tell?"

"Fine is any day that one can arise and still find the strength to offer the world a smile, in lieu of that smile at least civility."

The Count's brows rose. "That is a very simple, and perhaps sad definition of fine. It lacks joy in life or even spark to it. It implies a dredge of life from day to day."

"Joy in life is a difficult thing to find, Monsieur. You asked how I define 'fine' not how I define 'good'."

"How would you define the latter then?"

"Good is a day where you wake to find that everything is going right, that life has given you a new chance at happiness. It's the day where you not only have the strength, but the desire, to offer that smile I mentioned."

"And how often do you find that your days are good rather than fine?" the Count asked and just managed not to wince. It didn't matter, and he sure as hell should not be enjoying the fact he wanted the other to be suffering.

Charles' blue eyes darted up to the other's face, some indignation in them though everything else was veiled in his expression, "I'm not certain that's really your concern, Monsieur."

There was a long pause and the Count inclined his head. "I'm sure I've taken more than enough of your time," he said, almost too abruptly, turning as if to go.

"No, wait." The smaller man stopped himself before he actually caught hold of the Count's sleeve, "I'm sorry."

Glancing down at Charles' hand not touching him he stopped. "Yes?" the Count asked.

"I'm sorry," he repeated. "This is the most interesting conversation I believe I've had in ages. I just..." He closed his eyes, turning his face away, "It has been a long time since someone asked me something like that and expected an answer."

The Count turned to look him over. "Do people not care for your wellbeing?" he asked.

"This is society, Monsieur. People care for nothing but your wealth."

"Your husband, your family?" the Count asked, stepping an inch closer.

"Hank does." Charles sighed, hardly able to believe he was answering these questions. But, the longer they spoke the more certain he became. There was no doubt in his mind that those eyes belonged to the one he'd lost, "Sebastian doesn't ask. As long as everything looks as it should to society nothing else matters."

"Then why did you marry him?" the Count asked, voice snapping out like a snake.

The smaller man visibly flinched at that, "Because I had no choice. I believed him a better man than he was, and he was there during a time when I needed him."

The Count drew back, realized he'd said too much, given the other too obvious a look at his emotions.

Charles drew himself together again, his mask for society in place once more, "To answer your original question, I am fine far more than I am good."

The Count considered him with grey eyes and inclined his head, expression shuttered again. "At least you're not living in any hardship," he murmured, voice returning to the rumble from earlier.

"Not a fiscal one, no."

"Emotional hardships are hardly the worst to endure," the Count said, voice edging toward a snap again before biting it back down.

Charles' eyes narrowed at that, "No. They are not, but they are hardships nonetheless, Monsieur." He turned to look over the crowd, "If you'll excuse me I need to see to the other guests."

The Count snorted slightly and waved a hand over the crowd. "Yes, go explain to everyone else how fine you are."

The smaller man's entire body stiffened at that and his hands clenched for a moment before he consciously relaxed, offered the Count a visibly forced smile and swept off.

Once he was gone, the Count swallowed hard. Too much of him had strained toward the other. He was only glad he had enough control over his body not to physically lean toward Charles, as if their bodies were tied with string, or not to follow him and lift him up. Turning his gaze, he noticed both Madame de Villefort and her daughter and swallowed again.

He had work to do. He could not let himself be distracted, even by the blue eyes he used to dream so much about.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this is the chapter that has been being implied up to dealing with Charles and Shaw. Yes, they are married. Don't worry, everything will work out in the end.
> 
> Your songs for this chapter are Hell to Your Doorstep and I Know Those Eyes/This Man Is Dead


	6. Can Either Of Us Really Ever Be Free?

Sometime later, sick of the noise and the party ebbing and flowing around him, Hank slipped out. Even though the entire thing was in his honor, if he got one more question about changing his name, plans for marriage, his plans for his profession, or one more look from Shaw, he was going to scream.

Walking down the mostly empty side corridors he escaped into the garden, which was empty at this time during the gala.

Alex was wandering through the garden, killing time until the Count was going to need his carriage to take him home. Raven was currently watching the carriage and visiting with the other servants to see what information she could get. He'd opted instead to get some time on his own. God knew he needed it sometimes.

Hank froze when he noticed someone else. His tendency to be paranoid around strangers had gone up greatly recently. "Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't know someone else was here."

Alex looked up startled. Oh, damn it all. Of all the people to come into the garden it had to be him, "No, I-I'm sorry, sir. I can leave if you like."

Hank tilted his head. "It's fine, I mean, if you like."

"I..." Alex finally shook his head, "If you don't mind, sir, I think I'd prefer to stay."

"Then stay," Hank replied, sitting down on one of the benches.

The blond man tilted his head on one side, "Aren't you the one this whole party is for?"

Hank flickered blue eyes up to him, shifting a little uncomfortably in his rich clothing. "Technically. But have you ever had an entire room trying to wish you well falsely while they all just want your money or status for themselves?"

Alex sat himself, cross-legged on the ground a short distance away, "I'm a carriage driver, so no, I can't say as I have."

Hank smiled faintly. "Then I suggest you try your utmost to avoid such a fate."

"Not big on the whole party in your honor thing, hm?"

"Not really. There's just so much pushing and shoving," Hank rolled his shoulders. "So much greed and want."

Alex looked at him for a long moment, "I'm gonna let you in on something you're probably not going to want to hear."

"Everywhere you go there's greed and want and I should at least appreciate being wealthy?" Hank asked a little weakly.

"Actually I was just going to say that the pushing and shoving and greed and want sounded like life, but yeah basically."

"Figured it was going to be something like that," Hank sighed.

"It could be worse."

"I am well aware," Hank said quietly. He had recollections of being an orphan after all.

"Actually, I was meaning in the 'not everyone's there for you' sort of way. If they were there's no way you could get away to the peace and quiet of the garden."

"So not having people care is alright because at least I get the garden mostly to myself?" he asked, still half in confusion.

"Not...quite how I meant that, but I suppose? Surely there's someone who cares?"

"Certainly, my step father. That's one person in a large room."

Alex thought about that for a moment, "My employer came for you." Alright, that was mostly a lie. Hank had been his "in".

Hank's brows rose. "Your... oh, that mysterious Count?"

The other young man nodded, "Yeah."

"That must be quite an experience."

"Working for him? Yes. You've no idea."

That got a small laugh from the other. "I can't begin to imagine no."

"He is an interesting man, there's no doubt about that."

"What is he like, anyway? I mean, it seems like he just shows up and charms everyone without giving a single thing about himself away."

Alex considered what he could actually say. He worded his response carefully, "He's driven. Very goal-oriented. But rather enigmatic with his employees too."

"So I'm not getting any good gossip out of you, am I?" Hank asked with a smile.

"I'm afraid I've a good deal more concern for what my employer might do should I give out that gossip," Alex offered him a slight grin.

"Frightening then?" Hank asked.

"Intimidating."

"Well, that's better than terrifying I suppose."

"A man's less terrifying when you see him out of the public eye."

That half startled a laugh out of Hank. "That's true."

Alex grinned again at the laugh, "What's it like living here?"

"Empty, usually," he said and almost blanched. "I mean, it's a large house and so few people. I think I could go a few days without seeing someone except we all have such distinct schedules and know where the others are. I suppose it's quite physically comfortable."

"Lonely at all? I would imagine it gets lonely."

"Very," Hank murmured. "Even when you talk to most people you aren't really talking to them because everyone's treating life like an elaborate chess game and you couldn't be honest if you wanted to be."

"Sorry to hear that," Alex murmured and was surprised that he meant it.

Hank titled his head to the side at that, considering the other.

Alex glanced at him, "What?"

"Not something I usually get an apology for," Hank said and shrugged. "I mean, not that I mind?"

"Well, I just don't think it's right for people to have to live like that, you know?"

"No, I really wouldn't know," Hank murmured. "It's not so bad. I'm fed. Though occasionally kidnapped."

Alex managed not to pale at that, "Kidnapped?"

Hank shrugged, not quite looking at the other. "Happened once. I think I'll try to avoid that ever again."

"Well, that must have been quite the experience, but yeah. Avoiding it again is probably a good idea."

"Probably," Hank said. "At least... actually your employer was the one who swooped down and saved me from whatever fate was going to go on there."

"Really? Oh, yeah he did mention that."

Hank titled a brow up and shrugged. "Well, there are worse things. Like getting whichever body part they were discussing cut off."

"Well, at least you're in tact?"

Hank nodded. "So," he started, eying the other sitting on the lawn. "What brought you out here alone?"

"I get tired of the gossip around the carriage house," he answered. "I just wanted to get away by myself for a while."

"Are you ever lonely?" Hank asked and winced at his own question.

Alex thought about it, drawing his knees up to his chest, "I guess. Not as much anymore, but I guess so."

"I'm sorry. It's just, you asked about me and I don't know, I'm sorry." Hank paused enough to cut that off and titled his head the other way. "Were you more lonely before?"

"Don't worry about apologizing. You've got a right. And, I guess I was, yeah."

"What changed?" Hank asked, wanting to know but figuring it would not be an option open to him anyway.

"I found employment. The other servant's a good companion."

"Well, that's definitely out," Hank murmured and shrugged, more at his own foolishness than the other's answer.

"Do you not have any friends?" His eyes widened as he realized he had asked that out loud, "I'm sorry, that's not my place."

Hank shrugged again. "No? It's hard to be friends with someone when you can't tell each other the truth. I have Charles, who adopted me. But I don't think he tells me everything either. He gets these looks sometimes, especially around his husband like there's so much he wants to say that he doesn't."

Alex thought about that for a moment, remembering what Raven had said about Erik's comment regarding the person he'd loved being married to Shaw, "Well, I guess there's only so much adults feel they can say to us."

"I'm supposed to be of age tonight," Hank said, not quite pouting but close. "Doesn't that make me an adult?"

Alex grinned slightly, "Yeah, it does. Technically I've been of age for a year, but it doesn't mean they're willing to talk to us about some things."

"Do you think they ever will be, or do people like their secrets too much?"

"I think it depends on the secret. If he won't tell his husband, and considers you a son, it's probably not likely."

Hank sighed quietly and looked the other over. "You know," he said after a pause. "You don't have to sit on the ground over there."

Alex considered that for a moment, "Is that an invitation to join you on the bench?"

"If you like?" Hank offered.

The blond hesitated before getting up and moving over to sit on the other end of the bench, "It's a nice garden."

"One of the best," Hank said, actually sounding fond. "We have a lot of plants imported, and a couple green houses for the ones used to warmer climates."

"Wow. I have to admit I'm impressed. It must take a lot of care."

Hank nodded, a little happily. "I wish I could take more credit, but it's mostly the gardeners."

"Do you spend much time out here?" Alex asked quietly.

"I like it here," he said. "It gives me something to do, and it doesn't feel so lonely because it's full of life. Not life that can talk to you mind, but it's better than inside."

"The longer I talk to you the less happy you sound."

Hank blinked, looking over at him abruptly. "I'm sorry. Should I stop?"

Alex shook his head, "No. I didn't mean it like that. Just that, well, I wish there was some way to make it happier for you I guess."

Head still tilted, Hank considered him. "Not many servants say things like that," he murmured.

"I-I... Well, most servants don't find heirs to estates sitting in the garden instead of attending parties thrown in their honor either," he did his best to turn it back around on Hank, but wasn't quite sure he'd accomplished it.

That got a tiny smile out of the other, his blue eyes twinkling slightly. "No, I suppose not. We're both just strange ones then?"

Alex offered him a smile at that, "I guess so."

"I won't consider if a bad thing if you don't?"

"I don't. I've met too many people who are 'normal'. I prefer to be strange."

That almost startled a laugh out of Hank. "You must meet interesting people with a master who likes to travel that much."

"Honestly we haven't traveled all that much. Italy and France, really that's it since I started working for him."

"Well, if nothing else he seems like an interesting person? He has a large social circle if nothing else," Hank offered.

Alex nodded, "He is and he does." He glanced around, as though making sure his employer wasn't anywhere around, "Just eccentric I suppose."

"Does he have any great stories in his past?" Hank asked, mostly joking.

Alex managed a grin, somehow, "Oh probably."

"I'm not going to hear them am I?" Hank asked.

"I hold my job in higher regard than that," Alex confessed.

"A private man," Hank nodded. "Makes sense."

"Yeah. He really is. A good employer though."

Hank looked away abruptly as there was not quite a slam and a tall figure appeared. "Alex," Erik snapped, sweeping into the garden. "Get the carriage ready."

Alex startled, nearly falling off the bench in his attempt to get to his feet, "Yes, sir. It'll be out front in five minutes, sir." He glanced at Hank, "Good evening." With that he darted off.

Hank blinked rapidly, turning back up to the Count. "Sorry for distracting your carriage driver."

The Count glanced down at him, eyes widening slightly as if surprised to see him. "Oh, of course. It is not a problem so long as he gets the carriage. I hope you enjoyed your party," he said, no heart in any of the words. "Now, good evening," he said and went to sweep off.

Alex located Raven quickly and she told him she'd have the carriage around front shortly. He left to make sure that everything else was where it needed to be and returned to get up on the driver's box and bring the carriage around to the front of the mansion, Raven had perched herself on the footman's box at the back.

Erik was waiting in the front of the mansion, not quite tapping his foot in impatience but close, climbing into the carriage quickly. Alex pulled away as soon as he was in. There was a figure seated inside the carriage already. Charles sat forward just enough to make his presence known and so the light from the windows would let the other know it was him.

The Count jerked back, hitting his back hard. "Excuse me," he said. "But you seem to be in the wrong carriage."

The other nobleman shook his head, "No, Erik. I'm in the right carriage."

It took the Count a long moment, blinking his grey eyes once long and hard. "Excuse me? M. Shaw, you must be terribly confused. I am no Erik and you really must be in the wrong carriage."

"I have spent all evening trying to find some other explanation, but it is you. I would never be able to mistake those eyes. Even though they were younger and kinder when last I saw them."

"You are terribly mistaken," the Count protested. "I hardly know which man you are referring to, and my eyes surely have not seen you before."

He shook his head firmly, "Did you really think I wouldn't recognize you? I have no idea why or even  _how_  you're here, but I know your face. It's haunted my dreams for years."

Swallowing, the Count nearly growled. "This man you seem to think I am is dead, Monsieur."

"There are too many similarities. E-even if what you say is true, I can't bring myself to believe it. I've done so before, and to lose him, to lose  _you_ , again...Erik..." Charles dropped his gaze.

"You keep calling me by that name, do you think it will help?" the Count asked, eyes turning darker. "This man is dead and he is no more. I'm sure he died a little each day. The mind plays tricks and you are simply confused."

Alex, once Raven had indicated he should turn around, had brought them to the door of the mansion again, bringing the carriage to a stop, though he was beyond confused. Charles looked at the man across from him for a long moment, "No, you're right. You can't have been my Erik. Even at his worst, you are far colder, far crueler."

"Prison would do that to anyone," the Count replied, opening the door. "Perhaps you are giving Erik Lehnsherr too much credit."

The smaller man gave him a long look before shaking his head and stepping out, "There was too much good in him. Good evening, Count." He turned and silently returned to the mansion.

Erik watched him go before his arm darted out, grabbing the front of Alex's shirt from the carriage box. "I swear to God," he growled. "If you ever do something like that again so help me I will flay you alive and feed your flesh to the dogs."

Alex yelped as he was hauled from his perch, "I didn't do it! I swear before God and all His angels that I didn't know he was in there!"

Whipping his head around, Erik let go and stared at Raven, grey eyes almost sharp enough to cut the air.

She looked unperturbed by the look and Alex considered the fact that maybe she had no sense of self-preservation, "I've sworn to protect you. Even if that means from yourself. I've said it before, and I say it more vehemently this time. You are richer than any man I know of, you have someone who loves you, apparently, if you haven't thrown  _that_  to the dogs. Take him, take the money, and  _go_."

Alex just gaped at her, finding it handy that she was still out of Erik's reach while he, himself, was in process of scrambling back up onto the box to perch himself on the opposite side of the carriage.

"Go?" Erik snapped and looked around, realizing they were still at Shaw's mansion. "In the carriage, now," he growled. "Alex, drive."

Alex strongly considered the pros and cons of doing as he was told. Raven finally looked at least a little nervous as she got into the carriage and they started off.

Erik leaned back, crossing his arms over his chest and staring at her from the other side of the small space. "Do not ever meddle like that again," he said, voice low.

She pursed her lips, but inclined her head finally in acknowledgement, "It's not as though I invited him into the carriage."

"No? But you knew he was going to be in there?"

She nodded very slightly, "Yes, I did. But Alex is right, he had no idea."

"Then next time? Kick him out," Erik growled.

"I can't do that to a nobleman! I'm a servant, remember?"

"Keep him out of your master's carriage or you won't even be able to claim that title."

She looked at him for a long moment, before nodding, "Very well. You have my word that he will not enter your carriage again without your express permission."

Erik narrowed his eyes, considering how precise that statement was.

"What? Unless I have your orders, from your mouth I won't let him in the carriage again. That's what you want, right?"

"I don't want you going behind my back at all since you seem to think you're doing what's best for me. Keep that man away."

"I just said, that unless I hear it from you he's not! What more do you want? Besides to have me stand by and watch you ruin any chance at ever actually finding contentment? I'll do my best to keep him away, but if what his servants say is true he's a stubborn as you are."

That made Erik pause and he finally asked, voice quiet. "What did the servants say about him?"

Raven took a long moment to pick and choose, "That he lives a very lonely existence, besides his son. He comes into conflict with Shaw more than what it sounds like most other noble couples do, if the  _other_  servants there are any indication. He doesn't give ground, and so if he wants to avoid a conflict usually locks himself away in either his chambers or a particular side room, sometimes for days at a time. That's the other thing, he and Shaw sleep in separate wings of the mansion. Charles' decision, as far as I could hear." She considered her employer, "Is there anything more specific you would like me to relate, I might be able to find the information."

Halfway through Erik's eyes had clouded over and he looked away. "No," he said. "That should be more than enough."

She arched an eyebrow, not saying anything beyond a quiet, "I'm sorry."

Erik let out what could only be a sigh of relief as the carriage stopped and he moved to get out as quickly as he could. She watched him go before getting out as well. Raven glanced up at Alex, "Can you handle the carriage, I was hoping to get some sleep?"

"Oh, no you don't. It's your turn to deal with the carriage and the horses," he replied, hopping down from the box.

She scowled at him but got back up and drove the carriage around to the stable as Alex slipped inside after Erik.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As with the last chapter, your song for this one is I Know Those Eyes/ This Man Is Dead


	7. There Are No Words Left To Say

Entering the foyer, Erik nodded to a house servant, setting his gloves and cane down. Alex stopped behind him, "Is there anything else you need tonight, sir?"

"I need nothing else tonight," Erik said, shaking his head. "Go rest if that is what you want."

Alex offered Erik a bow before slipping away. A figure stepped out of the shadows from where the man had been waiting for the servants to leave.

Erik turned abruptly, grabbing the cane he'd set aside and holding it out before taking a look at the figure that had stepped out. "M. Shaw," he said slowly, lowering the cane. "Do you always lurk in such shadows?"

Charles' brow arched very slightly, but he shrugged, "Only when waiting for others to leave. I've spent more time in the shadows in recent years."

"They do not suit you. What do you want?"

"I said 'Erik'.  _You_  said 'Lehnsherr'. I never gave you his last name."

"I did a lot of research," Erik drawled, moving to sweep past the other. "Now, I'm not sure how you got yourself here, but I am sure you will be missed by your husband."

Charles stepped into his way, "The only time he misses me is at a social function when he can't show off what a perfect life he has."

"A social function that still has plenty of guests," the Count replied. "You're in my way."

"He's already showed off his wealth, his spouse and his heir. I usually retire with a headache before now." Blue eyes met grey, "And you are still lying to me."

"I hardly know what you're talking about," was the quick reply.

Charles shook his head, "There is no way that you are not the one I lost."

"No way? There is every way. You surely moved on from him, so why do you not believe him to be dead?"

The smaller man looked at him for a long moment, "If you've truly done as much research as you claim, how did Erik Lehnsherr die?"

"Does that matter? In the prison he was sent to."

"When did he die? And how? If you researched enough to know that the Erik I meant was Erik Lehnsherr then surely you can answer those questions."

"To know you were once engaged to a man sent to prison? Why should I care about him after that?" the Count asked, waving a hand. "Did you promise him to wait? I'm curious how long it took you to fall into the arms of another."

Charles gaped at him, "I spent every waking moment, and several during which I should have been sleeping for the first year and a half trying to get him out of that prison. I was told he died and I spent another six months locked away before I so much as spoke to anyone without them speaking first. It was three years before I could stand to even consider living my life again, at all. Four before I accepted advances, and I have rued it every day since."

"Four years?" the Count scoffed. "You say four years as if that was any period of time at all."

"Before I accepted advances, not before I damn well married."

"But do look at who you fell in with," the Count said, shaking his head. "Sebastian Shaw. How long before he had you?"

"Six years." Charles confessed quietly, but his tone sharpened quickly, "And if you think putting it off for that long wasn't difficult simply for the sake of sanity then you do not know him."

"Oh, Shaw is a man I am certain I know. Rich, vain, arrogant, and who wants all the best things in the world for himself to display them, not to care for them."

"That is an accurate assessment, but something I was unaware of at the time."

"How could you be?" the Count demanded. "Having known him so long? How could you not see what it obvious to anyone else in one meeting?"

"Because I was a naive fool who was grieving, and still is, for the love he lost and my cousin was the only person who didn't give me long suffering looks and sighs to my face during that time."

"Maybe you deserved them," came the snapped reply. "But what do I care? I still do not understand why you are in my house chasing ghosts."

Charles flinched before drawing himself up to his full height, still a good head shorter than the other man, "One minute you chastise me for moving on and the next you say that the long suffering looks I received for  _not_  doing so were justified? I have already told you why I am here. Do you honestly think for a moment that I would stand here and take this if I had any doubt in my mind that you are Erik Lehnsherr?"

"You seem a glutton for some kind of abuse," came the drawled response. "It is late. Scurry home."

The smaller man didn't move, "Then I'll take it. God knows I deserve it. I promised I would wait and I didn't wait long enough."

"You weren't waiting for me, so why make these excuses?" the Count demanded, though his voice was slipping.

"Because you asked for them!" Charles' voice rose in volume and desperate exasperation.

"Why come to make them in the first place?" the Count thundered, temper snapping and looming over the shorter man. "What do you want from me, Monsieur Shaw?"

Charles recoiled as though the taller man had struck him a physical blow, "I might ask you the same thing!  _Why_  did you come here in the first place?"

"This is my house."

"Not  _here_. Paris."

"Where else would a man of wealth go? I have long been from society and wanted to see what the fuss was about," he said, spreading his arms and eyes going colder. "I was sorely mistaken on how worthwhile such an endeavor would be."

"Why befriend my son? Why come to my home? And for the love of God do not tell me it was simply for society. If that was the case you would have waited for an official invitation to one of our galas, or at least let it be known that you were in Paris so I could thank you for saving him."

"He invited me when I met him in Venice. At least I assumed telling me the date and time and saying he hoped I would be there was an invitation, and why would I miss such an in to society?" he rattled off in reply.

Charles narrowly resisted the urge to hit the other, "You would have the first time I saw you since learning of your death be in front of a crowd of the Parisian elite?"

The Count nearly snarled, mask slipping back into Erik for a moment. "You never give up, do you? You're worse than a damn hound harrying a fox."

"I have never willingly given up on something in my life. Beyond any chance at a happy life." He finally drew a steadying breath, "I have no right to ask anything of you, but I will ask you this. As much as you hate me, and my husband, my son is no part of this. He is an innocent, and I ask you to remember that."

"What exactly do you think I'm doing here?" Erik demanded, offended for the very reason he was in the city at all.

"I have no idea. But the man I see before me has not a shred of the human compassion of the man I fell in love with, and will love 'til the day I die. Based off of that, and your absolute hatred of my husband, I can only surmise, and even then I hope I am wrong."

"The man you claim to love is dead, whether they buried his body in the ground or not," Erik said each word slowly as if they had a weight attached to them, falling in the space between where they stood. "So hope you're as wrong as you like, I hardly care."

Charles dropped his gaze briefly, "Then I appeal to the man who was imprisoned in the Chateau D'If. Do not condemn an innocent to pay for the sins of his fathers."

That startled a bitter laugh out of the other man. "Monsieur, who do you think are the condemned ones, but innocent men?"

Looking away, the smaller man drew a shaky hand over his face, "God..."

Erik almost snarled, but subsided into silence, watching the other for a moment.

"Is hatred all you truly have left?" Charles looked up at him, silently praying that it wasn't true.

"What else would any man be expected to have?"

The blue eyes darkened and turned away, focusing on the marble of the floor. Charles finally stepped out of his way, "I'm sorry to have kept you from your rest."

"Then why did you come?" he asked, voice tired and strained. He thought he could handle Charles in his space and he had been wrong.

"I came to see if there was even a shred of the man I once loved somewhere within you. I fear I have my answer."

Erik lashed out, grabbing Charles' arm and pulling him toward his taller frame. "Stop calling me that. Stop dropping that word like it means anything."

Charles startled at that, trying to pull away, "Calling you  _what_?"

"The man you  _love_."

"Would you have me lie?"

"I would have you stop saying it as if it actually meant anything," came the reply

"It means something to  _me_. The only person who has ever heard that word from my lips when I didn't mean every bit of what it implies is Sebastian Shaw." He struggled to pull his arm away again, "Let go of me."

Erik didn't. "Then why do you keep insisting you love me? Since you insist I'm the man."

"Because I  _do_ ," Charles replied. "I always have, and I think I always will."

"You don't know me," he growled. "If you knew me once, the years have burned that away. Besides, you yourself seemed to think I couldn't be him due to my cruelty."

"I did think that. I was mistaken, and there is a part of me that regrets that fact."

That got Erik to finally drop the arm he'd been holding. "Ghosts that walk around in dead men's bodies are always going to be a regret, I'm sure."

"That is not what I meant. I regret the fact that you underwent what you did. I regret the fact that you had to live through these years. I regret the fact that the man standing before me, is no man at all, simply a shell built on anger and hatred."

"What else would you have in me?" he snapped, vaguely aware no servants had crossed the foyer since Charles appeared. "What else would be left in the world?"

"There was a time when you lived for things beyond that. It isn't you that died in prison, Erik. It's your hope to find something better in life."

"You have no idea what you're talking about."

"Don't I? Remembering the man I knew and looking at the man who stands before me today, that is what's missing."

"And you still believe in hope then?" Erik asked, voice hard. "You, who says a fine day is when you can wake up and bear to be civil?"

Charles flinched, "There is always something to hope for. Even if it isn't for yourself."

"What do you hope for then?"

"I hope that my son has more fortune than I do. I hope that he finds a reason to smile, to love, and that he doesn't lose it."

"That is no hope for yourself."

"I didn't say it was. For myself? I hoped that the news I received fifteen years ago was a lie. The fates have laughed in my face in regards to that." Erik took half a step back, shaking his head. Charles' gaze followed his motion, "I will never stop loving you. I may find myself questioning my sanity in regards to that, but I shall not stop loving you."

"You don't know me," Erik repeated, each word heavy. "Why do you still think you can claim that of a stranger?"

"Then I will never cease to stop loving the man you were. Is that what you want to hear? That I will grieve your loss 'til the end of my days, knowing that your soul _died_ in that prison?" his voice was quiet and he shook his head.

Erik just stared at him, before rubbing a hand over his eyes that just felt tired. "No, that's not what I wanted to hear."

"Then what would you have me say? That I've stopped loving you? I won't lie to you."

"You married Sebastian Shaw," Erik said, voice edging back toward a growl.

"Yes, I did! I made a horrible mistake and married Sebastian Shaw," Charles' voice rose to a note between desperation and exasperation.

"Horrible mistake? Is that what you're calling it?"

"Damn it, Erik, what should I call it? Yes, it was a betrayal, yes it was something I shouldn't have done, but I  _did_  and I can't change that fact now!"

"It was a betrayal?" Erik thundered again and if anyone was still in the house he was sure they would hear them. "By god, do you think so?"

Charles flinched, "What would you have me do! I thought you were dead! I thought you were dead for  _years_  by the time I accepted him."

"Do you know there's only one worse person you could have chosen to wed?" Erik demanded. "But wait, it's rumored your son is engaged into that family."

"The de Villeforts? My son is not engaged to that family, unless Sebastian has completed the paperwork without my knowledge. And he will not be engaged to Emma de Villefort if I manage to have any say in it."

"Oh good," Erik drawled. "So you've just married  _one_  of the people who sent me to Hell."

Charles drew back at that, his voice muted in shock, "What?"

Erik gave him a long look. "You never did figure it out, did you? Come now, Charles, who had the most to gain by making me disappear without a trial?"

The smaller man's mind flickered back over the last sixteen years. The promises, the lack of results, the apologies, the death certificate, the... He paled, "E-Erik. I..."

"As far as I could ever tell, Sebastian Shaw was the one who brought the case before the prosecutor Jean de Villefort. Cain Marko, who gained a captaincy of a ship, was a judge against my character. You wouldn't have happened to entertain an affair with him too, did you?"

Charles flinched at that, shaking his head, "I've seen Cain Marko twice in the last ten years and only when he was discussing business investments with Sebastian."

"Well, at least then you only have intimate ties with two of my betrayers, not all three."

"I have no tie to Jean de Villefort, Erik. Did you miss that?"

"One then," Erik amended. "But is that not the worst one anyway?"

"I didn't know and I cannot change it!" Charles looked toward the door, drawing his arms around himself. "What would you have me do?" He asked softly.

"You're the one married to him, you figure it out," he replied, voice short but hurting. This was never supposed to have happened.

"I cannot simply leave the man Parisian society considers the be all to end all. I have considered it, God how I have, but he has been very careful to paint the image of a perfect life. Every door would be closed to myself and my son. I cannot do that to my son. He's all I have left." He shook his head, "And that's if Sebastian didn't insist that Hank stay with him due to the declaration of heirship, which I can do even less to him."

Erik considered him a moment before shaking his head again. He could not deal with this. "And what would you have me do then?"

"You're the one who walked back into my life. You figure it out," Charles parroted the other man's words back to him.

"I walked back to destroy Shaw," Erik snapped, one arm pointing through the wall in the direction of Shaw's mansion. "I only heard that  _you_  had married him when I talked to Morrel, my plans already in motion. You were never supposed to be a part of this."

Charles sighed, "In your quest to destroy him, I ask you again, do not harm Hank. His only fault is that I took him in after I wed Sebastian. I would have taken him in had I been married or not." The smaller man looked up again, meeting Erik's eyes, "Do as you will. Just leave my son out of this."

"He is the heir to the man I hate," Erik replied, voice hard.

"Not by his choice."

"That hardly changes the fact."

Charles played his last card, "If you truly hate me that much, then do as you like. But Hank is the only thing that has kept me sane for the last decade. I don't even ask that you don't disinherit him, I simply ask that he comes to no harm."

"You can ask all you want, but it doesn't mean you ever get it."

There was a long pause as Charles studied the other man's features before he finally turned away again, "I should go."

"Yes," Erik said, also not looking at him.

"Good evening to you, Monsieur. I am sure I shall see you again. I am sorry to have taken up so much of your time," his voice had dropped into the quiet murmur he reserved for social situations, his blue eyes focused on a floor tile halfway between himself and the door.

"Don't you dare," Erik said, eyes snapping back suddenly. "Don't you dare treat me like someone at a party that you lie to."

Charles stiffened, but didn't turn to face him, "How would you have me treat you? You've just told me you came to Paris to destroy my husband and you have no qualms about catching my son up in the midst of it. I care not what you do to Sebastian, but how _dare_ you use Hank." He managed to keep his voice even, but it was cold and held a hint of restrained emotion in it.

"I already  _have_  used Hank, so it would hardly be anything new."

"I am aware of that." He finally turned his head enough so he could look at Erik, "But if you let any harm come to him, I do not think I will be able to forgive you."

"Like you could forgive me destroying your husband and wealth?"

"It does sound beyond hypocritical of me, but yes."

Erik paused and maybe something broke because he took a step forward, back toward the other. "So you would ask nothing of me for yourself?"

The smaller man finally turned to face him again, "I have no right to ask anything of you for myself."

"So, because you lack the right you wouldn't ask?" he inquired.

"I have nothing I want for myself. I can think of nothing."

"Nothing at all?" Erik asked, tilting his head. He really should kick the other out rather than continue this conversation.

Charles looked at him, "What I want is something you cannot give."

"Is there harm in asking then?"

"I want to be able to change the last sixteen years."

"Anything in specific?" Erik couldn't help but ask.

"What happened to you, my marriage, everything except taking Hank in, if I'm to be honest."

"You've managed to quite ruin your life all on your own, haven't you?"

He sighed heavily, "Yes, Erik, I have."

Wanting to say at least he had an excuse, Erik took half a step back. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be. I did it to myself," bitterness laced the smaller man's voice.

"Perhaps," Erik murmured, actually wavering for a moment.

Charles frowned, considering that, "What do you mean perhaps?"

Erik shook his head. "Nothing, it doesn't matter. Good night."

The smaller man finally paused, "No, please."

Crossing that last distance between them, before he could think better of it, Erik flicked Charles' hair back from his face. "It's nothing. You should go home."

Charles startled at the touch, but didn't move, "I...probably should, yes.."

Erik wavered again for a moment before leaning down and finally just kissing the other. Perhaps that's what he should have done from the start. Perhaps Raven was right. The smaller man stiffened for a moment before melting into the kiss, leaning up to deepen it, wrapping his arms around the other man's neck. Pulling on the back of his hair, Erik used his other arm to wrap around Charles' waist. Charles pressed against him, making a soft noise the back of his throat, one of his hands moving to tangle in Erik's hair.

His other hand going down to Charles' hips, Erik pulled him closer, tilting his head down. Charles' free hand moved to trace a pattern on Erik's chest, his fingers skidding over the buttons of his shirt. That got a chuckle out of Erik, as he pulled back enough to breathe. "Are you implying anything?"

"I-I..." Charles smiled slightly, "I don't know."

Erik's thumb made a small circle on Charles' hip.

The other man drew a sharp breath at that, kissing him again. Accepting the kiss, Erik's fingers continued to trace patterns along the other man's hipbones. Charles moaned softly, pressing harder against the other man. He managed to draw back enough to murmur, "We're still standing in your foyer."

Using his grip on Charles' hips, Erik hefted him up and nearly lost all his breath. Not because Charles was heavy, but because his muscles remembered this action and it made his chest ache.

Charles' hands came to rest on Erik's shoulder, a learned action, to keep himself balanced as he leaned down to kiss the other again.

Making a strangled noise in the back of his throat, Erik pulled back. "If I drag you to my bed," he murmured in Charles' ear. "What's going to happen?"

"Wh-what do you mean?"

"What do you think I mean?" he rumbled.

"I don't understand the question," came the response, Charles' brows knitting together in confusion.

"If I carry you off from here, like this, what do you think is going to happen?"

"Are you asking me if I'm alright with that? The answer is yes."

Making another somewhat strangled noise, Erik leaned up for another hard kiss. Charles leaned down as best he was able without off-balancing them, deepening the kiss. Erik had to pull back enough to get them up the stairs, not much caring if anyone happened to be passing by or not.

M-M-M-M

Charles lay in Erik's bed, his gaze fixed on the canopy. His emotions and thoughts were running counter to each other. He brushed a lock of hair away from his forehead and glanced at the man beside him. He should go. He really should. If he was gone much longer he would be missed, but he couldn't bring himself to so much as move, some part of him feared waking up to find that none of this was actually true while another part insisted that waking up was the only thing  _to_  do.

Erik lay watching him for several long moments. "You know," he murmured. "I never got to have a wedding night with you."

The smaller man dropped his gaze to the bedspread, nodding very slightly, "I know."

Pausing, Erik shifted again, reaching to run a hand through Charles' hair. Charles leaned into the touch, curling a bit closer to Erik, ignoring the part of him that was protesting on the moral and societal levels.

"You had a wedding night though," Erik murmured and sounded less bitter then he wished and simply tired.

"I..." he sighed, "yes. I did."

"I'm trying my hardest not to imagine."

"Erik, please. Don't."

The hand in Charles' hair stilled. "Don't what?"

"Don't bring that up. Not now, please."

Swallowing, Erik drew the hand back, curling it up against his chest instead.

Charles closed his eyes at that withdrawal, "Erik...I..."

Tilting his head against the pillow Erik watched him, grey eyes clouded but not cold.

He opened his eyes, glancing up to met Erik's gaze, "I'm sorry. For everything."

Erik raised a hand, running it along Charles' cheeks. "Words mean so little," he murmured.

"...I can't change it, Erik. Words are all I have left."

Erik sighed, dropping his hand.

Charles reached out, brushing a lock of Erik's hair back, "What would you have me do?"

"Hell if I know," he said, considered, and leaned forward to kiss the other man again. The smaller man titled his head into the kiss, his hand moving to rest on Erik's chest.

"Do this," Erik murmured, kissing Charles' cheekbone.

That earned a faint smile. "Gladly," Charles kissed Erik's jaw, turning his attention to the other's throat, resting a gentle kiss there as well.

Humming, Erik kissed the top of Charles' hair, his temple, before leaning his chin back to allow the other better access to what he was doing. The brunet continued his attentions to the sensitive skin at Erik's throat, his fingers tracing patterns over the other man's chest.

Erik ran his hands through Charles' hair. Charles tilted his head into the touch, moving up enough to kiss Erik again, tenderly. Keeping a hold of Charles' hair, Erik tilted his chin into the kiss. He didn't even want to know what the time was.

Charles drew back slightly, resting his forehead against Erik's, "I love you."

Erik decided he really didn't want to deal with that and kissed him again instead.

Charles drew back after another moment, "Erik...I—" he broke off as a clock chimed. His eyes widened, "I have to go."

Opening his mouth to protest, Erik froze, eyes snapping cold again. He couldn't help it, being reminded of everything was worse than a bucket of cold water.

Charles looked away, flinching back at that expression.

"I suppose you should," Erik murmured, pulling himself back, untangling their bodies and rising from the bed.

Hesitating, the other man finally rose as well, locating his clothes. "Hank will worry if I'm not home tonight," he murmured.

"Then you should go home," Erik said, pulling on his scattered clothing like he was putting on pieces of the Count.

Charles pulled his clothes on, watching as Erik transformed, falling behind the persona he had created, "I...will I see you again?"

Erik turned back to him and the entire facade seemed to fall apart for a moment before he turned away again, hastily repairing the walls. "I will be in town for the foreseeable future."

"That didn't answer my question, Erik," the reply was muted as Charles quickly straightened his shirt and pulled his vest on.

Having arranged his own vest to what he needed, Erik turned, and pulled Charles' vest closed, buttoning it from the bottom up. "You know where to find me," he murmured, not meeting the other's eyes.

The smaller man stilled at that, his gaze sweeping over Erik's features, "Erik..."

"Yes?"

"I..." He shook his head, reaching for his jacket before leaning up to kiss the other briefly. "Be careful."

"I'll do my hardest."

Charles pulled on his jacket, buttoning it up. He offered Erik a faint smile before slipping out of the room.

Left where Charles had stood with him, Erik stared at the door for several long moments before going to the library to work. That night he slept in one of the guest rooms rather than return to that bed.

M-M-M-M

Charles returned home, entering the mansion quietly through the servant's entrance and making his way up to his chambers. All of the guests had been gone for an hour and the servants were starting to retire for the night. He slipped into his room, leaning against the door for a long moment before finally preparing to retire for the night.

Moments later a tentative knock sounded at the door.

Charles startled at that, pulling on his dressing gown and making sure the clothes he'd just removed were out of sight, "Come in."

Hank poked his head around the door. "I asked a servant to tell me when you were home."

"Oh, Hank. Come in. I...hadn't realized anyone noticed I'd left."

He shrugged. "I don't think anyone else had. Well, and the servant I put on the lookout, sorry."

He shrugged slightly, "I am sorry about leaving so abruptly. I had something I needed to check on. Did...everything go smoothly after I left?"

"Yes, it was mostly done by that point. Where did you go?" Hank asked, sitting down.

Charles shook his head, "It doesn't really matter."

"You sure? You look a bit worried."

"I..." The older man finally sat down, sighing, "I'm not sure."

"Well, I've heard talking things over tends to help."

"What do you know about the Count of Monte Cristo?" Charles asked quietly.

"Well, he was in Venice and... he didn't want to give me a name but he did help with that whole kidnapping thing..."

Charles nodded slightly, "He...is an interesting man, that's for certain."

"Did you go see him?" Hank asked, curious.

"I did." Charles hesitated for a long moment before rising and going over to his wardrobe, pulling out one of the drawers and withdrawing the death certificate he'd kept. He ran his fingers over the worn paper. "I thought he was someone I knew years ago."

"He wasn't?" Hank asked, eyes straying to the piece of paper he had never seen before.

"I...he was. I'm not sure if it would have been better if he hadn't been."

"Well, who is he then?"

"What I tell you does not leave this room. Understand?" Charles fixed his son with a serious gaze, the paper still cradled in his hands.

Hanks brows rose but finally he nodded.

"His name is Erik Lehnsherr. I was engaged to him sixteen years ago."

That got Hank's blue eyes to widen. "He, and you?" he managed, trying to gather his thoughts back. "Really?"

Charles nodded, "He wasn't always so...cold."

"Well, it, I mean, it's not actually even that. I'm still just surprised. What happened though, since you clearly didn't marry him."

"He was wrongfully accused of a crime he didn't commit and sent to prison. I...was told he was dead," he held out the death certificate, offering it to Hank.

Accepting it, Hank read over it quickly.

"I...have no idea what I'm to do, Hank."

"Well," he floundered. "What do you want to do?" he asked lamely.

"What I want to do and what I can do are two vastly different things, and there are sixteen years separating them."

"Which is hardly an answer. Knowing what you want is a foundation to make a plan off."

Charles looked at him for a long moment, "Hank, what I  _want_  is to leave my husband for him. That's not an option and we both know that."

"Well, yes, that is slightly difficult. You could run away to another country?" He actually wasn't against leaving Shaw in the slightest.

"Erik won't leave. Not yet, and I won't lose him again."

"So, what are you going to do?"

"I...don't know." He shook his head, "I really don't know."

Hank watched him for a long moment, sighing softly.

"I...should get some sleep. As should you."

"Right, yes," Hank sighed again and rose.

"Good night, Hank."

Offering his adopted father a smile, Hank slipped out. Well, that was different. But did nothing for his own problems staring him in the face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so we come to the end of Chapter 7. Charles and Erik have finally gotten a pseudo wedding night that they never had and both are reeling from it.
> 
> For the third chapter in a row your songs include I Know Those Eyes/This Man Is Dead, this chapter also is inspired by All This Time.


	8. Chapter 8

The next day, Hank found himself standing in front of the Count's townhouse, a little unsure what he was actually doing there. Alright, so he really wanted to talk to someone about, well, anything, and Charles was out. He may be known in society but he didn't much like society and he could think of no one else to turn to.

Alex rode up from where he'd been out completing a few errands for his employer. He dismounted, pausing when he saw Shaw's heir. "Afternoon, sir."

"Oh, afternoon," he said, nervously taking his hat off and turning it around in his hands.

The blond handed the reins of the horse off to one of the other servants, "If you're looking for the Count, he's indisposed at the moment."

"Indisposed?" Hank asked. "Well, do you know when he'll be disposed?"

Alex shrugged, "Could be an hour, could be three days. You're welcome to come in while I ask him?"

"That would be nice, yes," Hank said, finally sticking his hat back on.

Opening the front door, Alex held it for the other, nodding to the room to the left, "If you'll wait in there I'll let him know you're here to see him. Is there some business I should mention?"

"I want to talk to him about Charles Shaw," Hank replied, setting his jaw. "Perhaps it is not urgent but I feel it is."

Alex eyed him warily at that, "I...will let him know." He hesitated, "If you'll just wait one moment, sir." With that he scurried off to the Count's office, knocking lightly on the door.

Erik glanced up. "What is it?"

"Mr. Henry McCoy to see you sir," Alex murmured. "I told him you were indisposed and he wished to ask after a better time to call."

Erik blinked. "Shaw's heir?

His servant nodded, "He said he wished to speak to you regarding his father, Charles."

That got a long look from the older man. "I have work to do. Marko's business will not crash itself. Distract him or get him to go away or something."

Alex nodded, "Of course, sir. If he asks for another time to call, what should I tell him?"

"A week hence, that should finish most of what I'm doing," the angular man said with a shrug.

"Of course," Alex bowed slightly and slipped out, returning to the sitting room where he'd left Hank.

"Well?" the lord's heir asked, sitting up straighter at the sight of the servant.

"He is indisposed still, and likely to remain so for another week. Business affairs are complex right now." He paused, considering and figuring Erik would probably kill him for what next came out of his mouth, "I can attempt to answer any questions you might have, but I am only a servant."

Hank blinked at that. "Well, it's just... my father was very disturbed after talking to him. Apparently they were once engaged."

Alex opened his mouth to respond to that and then closed it, nodding slightly, "I'd heard something to that effect..." He still hadn't moved from the doorway.

Tilting his head, Hank considered him. "Would you at least sit down? Or at least not stand in the doorway. It's a little unsettling."

He hesitated before he moved over and sat down in one of the chairs, "As far as I know, yes they were engaged. Different things happened and..." Alex shrugged, "You probably know all that."

"Not really," Hank sighed. "I mean, I guess I heard about prison and there was a death certificate but that doesn't sound quite like different things just happening."

Alex managed not to react as he wanted to, "Well, that's mostly the gist of it. The Count was thrown in prison wrongfully, and when he got out he found out your father had gotten married to...well, to Shaw."

"What's so bad with Shaw? I mean, okay, I mean, what specifically?"

"How brutally honest do you want me to be?" the servant asked.

"As much as you like to be," Hank replied. "It's always a nice change of pace."

"And I'm not going to get in trouble from you for saying these things? Cause I can almost guarantee the Count will have my hide already."

Hank considered him and shrugged. "I'm not inclined to tell anyone. I wouldn't actually want to get you into any trouble here."

"He'll figure it out anyhow, I'm sure." Alex drew a deep breath before he spoke again, "Shaw was one of the three people who conspired to have the Count imprisoned. For fifteen plus years. In the Chateau D'If."

That got a long blink out of Hank. "He... oh." He couldn't even say he was surprised.

"So...to say the Count was...angry when he found out about the marriage is probably putting it mildly."

"Yes, yes, I could see that," Hank said and nodded and paused a long moment. "So, is he after... Shaw then?"

Alex shrugged slightly, "I suppose so."

"You suppose so?" Hank asked with an arched brow.

"Look, I'm here to answer questions about your father, Charles, no more than that."

"What about questions about you?"

"A-about me?" Alex managed not to pale, looking toward Hank, "What do you mean?"

"Well," Hank shrugged. "Is there really anything else you could tell me about my father?"

"Well...no, I suppose not." He paused, glancing toward the entry hall as the front door opened and closed. He could hear Raven talking to one of the other servants, her tone wearily bored almost.

"He's still in his office? Please tell me someone's at least made sure he's eaten? Good. I'll go speak with him."

Hank blinked, tilting his head. "Is that another servant?"

Alex nodded, not really thinking about it, "Raven. She's been working for the Count a bit longer than I have."

"Her voice..."

The words sank in, but Alex did his best not to react, "What about it?"

"It... your boss, the Count. He was in Venice. As was her voice and honestly..." he stopped, giving Alex a long look.

Alex leaned back into the chair a bit, "H-honestly, what?"

"You look awfully familiar too now that I think about it. In a blond shadowy sort of way," Hank said, starting to lean ever so slightly away.

Alex's gaze darted toward the door, trying to figure out if he should let the other leave, or bolt for it himself, "M-me?"

"Yes, you. Was it you who kidnapped me so that what, you could stage a rescue, get into Shaw's good graces?"

The blond swallowed at that, "N-no..."

Hank gave him a long look. "You're not doing well on this denying thing."

"I-I..." He glanced toward the door again, where was Raven and her ability to lie or be frank when it was needed?

"So, I guess the question is just... whether you were stalling for time with all those threats or if you had actually meant them..."

Alex dropped his gaze to his hands, "I don't like blood. Didn't mean any of them...the Count was supposed to be there a hell of a lot sooner."

Pursing his lips, Hank nodded after a long moment. "Well, I can't say if you put on a good act or if I was just that terrified."

"...'M sorry."

Hank shrugged. "I, I guess it worked out. But then, what was the point? It's a lot of effort to get into society."

"He has a thing for entrances. And he expected more need to have trust with your parents." Alex hesitated, "He didn't know Charles was your father until we reached France."

"That's quite the thing not to know. You probably didn't even really know me either then, huh?"

The servant shook his head, "We knew what costume to look for, and your approximate description."

"That's not all that reassuring," Hank sighed. "So, alright, you were the ones that kidnapped me in Venice, and your boss is now after my... well, Shaw. Anything I'm missing here?"

Alex kept his gaze firmly fixed on his hands, rather than the other young man. He shook his head slightly, "I think you've pretty well got it..."

"Right," Hank said softly. "Do I fit anywhere else in here I should be aware of?"

"I-I...not in the plan, not that I know of it anyhow."

"Well, there's something I guess," Hank said, resting his elbows on his knees and his chin on his palm.

"I am sorry you got pulled into it. I-I...I mean...it's...well, it's hell."

"I'm sure to some degree," Hank agreed softly. "You don't actually seem that thrilled to be doing it."

Alex shrugged, "I guess I get why he's doing it, but there are going to be a lot of lives caught up in the middle of it."

"Don't approve of innocent bystanders taking the fall?" Hank asked, voice soft as the Count suddenly strode through the room, freezing at seeing the boy still there. "...Count," Hank added, wary suddenly.

Alex looked up with wide eyes, scrambling to get to his feet, "Sir."

"What's going on?" he asked, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Just, just talking."

"About your plans to destroy my family, things like that," Hank returned. "And the lovely reception your servants gave me in Venice, of course."

Eyes widening, Erik turned slowly to Alex.

Alex took a step back, "I didn't say any of that, he figured it out!"

"Really?" the Count growled, voice low.

"Really," Hank replied, brightly in the face of the brooding anger. "Actually it was your other servant's voice that really gave it away."

Said servant stuck her head in the doorway, "I was headed out again was there anything you wanted me to d—" She paused as she saw Hank, "Oh. We have a guest. I'll check later then."

"Oh, no need," he said, leaning back and crossing his arms. "I know almost everything in this area anyway apparently.

Raven's eyes widened and she darted a gaze from her employer to Alex, "He..."

Alex shook his head, stepping back again, seeing as his easiest retreat was cut off.

"You have a very recognizable voice," Hank told her dryly.

She smiled thinly, "Oh.  _That_." She darted a gaze to the Count, "I'm sure I told you that. I can't do accents."

He just blinked at the lot of them, anger swimming behind his eyes.

"Yes," Hank agreed. "Alex seems to have that talent but you apparently don't. So I've been hearing more about that lovely scheme to kidnap me."

Alex glanced at Hank in horror before his gaze darted back to the Count. He swallowed hard, "I...that is...I mean..."

Hank shrugged. "Which is just as lovely to know it's part of a scheme to get rid of my father."

"Alex," Erik growled, looking just a little beyond murderous.

"I- I didn't! I- I mean...not directly. He f-figured it out!" Damn it, he didn't used to stammer like this.

"Really now?"

"Yes! I...There's...I mean... _yes_."

Erik growled and Hank stood up. "Look, whatever you're planning..."

"I would hardly tell you," Erik muttered.

"Oh let him finish," Raven muttered, leaning against the doorframe.

"Just, whatever you're planning, I don't give a damn what happens to Shaw, and I actually don't give a damn about what happens to his money. I care about Charles and whether he can live comfortably or not," Hank said, chin out in defiance.

Erik blinked. "What is it with you two, and grand statements of loyalty?"

"Excuse me?" Hank blinked at him.

Raven bit back a laugh, "Your father said something along the same lines, if what some of the house servants over heard last night was true."

"Oh," Hank blinked. "Well then. Yes. He took me in off the streets and I'll be damned if you hurt him."

Erik's face twisted for a long moment. "Good to know."

"Well, that was pretty clear I think," Raven murmured, even as Alex eyed Hank.

"Though I'm curious what you could do to stop me."

Hank considered him. "No. Maybe not. But if you do that and if I find any way to survive it, I'll become like you. I'll spend the rest of my life hunting you down, and do you really want to see that sort of vengeance turned back on to yourself?"

Alex just gaped at that, finally finding his voice, and cutting Raven off before she could say anything, "Don't." He swallowed, gathering at least a couple of more words together, "Hank, don't. You don't want to become him."

"Well, I haven't yet," Hank pointed out as Erik just stood there, gaping at him. "And I would like not to. But I'm just saying, he may call me powerless now, but I swear to god, I will hurt you if you hurt Charles."

Finally rubbing a hand over his eyes, Erik nodded. "I will... take that into account."

Raven looked between the three men, "Well, now that everything has apparently been made clear on that point, is there anything else or can I leave without fear of bloodshed?"

"You can leave," Erik snapped. "And on the subject of leaving, you've said your piece, you can leave too." Lips thinning, Hank nodded and turned on his heel.

Raven stepped out of his way, glancing at Erik, "If I leave do you promise not to kill Alex?"

"I promise not to kill Alex," he muttered, darkly.

"Good. I expect to return and find him undamaged as well," she left before Alex could protest her departure.

Erik gave Alex a long look before storming back toward his office. Alex flinched before retreating to the kitchens. That could have gone much better.

M-M-M-M

Reaching home, Hank headed straight for Charles' chambers, knocking on the door.

Charles looked up from his book, setting the volume aside, "Come in."

Hank entered, glancing around. "I went to see the Count," he said softly.

His father's eyes widened, "You what?"

"I went to see the Count, found out more than I probably ever wanted to know," Hank replied and paused. "I think you should leave. London, Germany, I don't care. I just don't think it's safe here."

"That I should..." Charles blinked at him for a long moment, "Sit down, Hank. Start over."

"There's nothing really to start with," Hank protested. "The man's insane."

"How so?"

"Besides the vengeance thing?" Hank asked. "Because I believe that is more than enough to declare him mad."

Charles sighed, "I'm not saying I disagree with you. But..." He drew a deep breath, "Why do you think I should leave?"

"Because he's after the entire family, far as I could tell. I mean, beside's setting up the kidnapping in Venice..."

"The..." Charles rubbed his eyes, "He... It's not him I fear if I stay here."

"Then who is it?"

"Sebastian. I can't stay in this house much longer. And I certainly can't remain in France if I leave it."

"Then leave France," Hank said softly. "Is there really anything worth staying here for?"

Charles looked his son over for a long moment, "Will you be alright if I was to leave? Or would you be willing to come with me?"

"I would follow," Hank said after a moment.

"Follow or travel with me?"

"Follow," Hank said. "I think... I think I would prefer to see this out before coming with you. Though maybe that's stupid and dangerous of me."

Charles shook his head, "Hank...I can't just leave you here. You...you have to promise that if it looks for a moment like it will be too dangerous you will leave, understood?"

"You wouldn't be leaving me, since I intend to follow," Hank said. "But yes, I will leave the moment it looks like that."

"I'll go to London. I have distant relatives there." The older man shook his head, "I have to see him one last time, explain things."

Hank nodded. "If you feel you must..."

"I do. I'll write Sebastian a letter, and leave as soon as I can."

"Good," Hank said, rising. "I can help you pack."

Charles sighed, nodding, "We'll have to be sure the servants don't know until I'm set to leave. I know Sebastian hardly acknowledges them, but I'd rather he not catch wind of this."


	9. Give Me the World As It Is

Scott Morrell stood about a half block down from the de Villefort's town house, watching as Jean de Villefort left for the evening. He hadn't seen her daughter join her in the carriage, and so slipped up to the house after waiting for a while. Darkness was starting to fall, and it made it easier for him to approach. He and Emma had talked about meeting that evening but he still hesitated as he reached the door she usually used to leave the house. After a moment he knocked twice in quick succession praying he hadn't misjudged.

A few moments later there was a scuffle and Emma poked her head out of the door. "Did you remember roses?"

He offered her the bouquet, "As promised, Emma." His smile was fond, "How long is she out tonight?"

"Several hours I think. She had some last minute meeting thing," the young woman said, accepting the rose with a smile and shaking her blond hair out of her face.

"How are you doing, love?"

"Well, the usual," she returned, motioning over to their usual bench. "I managed to avoid any scandals at the party the other night, though there was quite an entrance."

He joined her on the bench, "An entrance? Whose?"

"Some count no one had heard of before last night. He apparently saved Hank McCoy's life." She huffed. "Might have been better if he hadn't but I suppose I shouldn't wish death on the boy just because of my mother."

Scott smiled faintly at that, "I'm sure he's not bad for someone else, Emma. Beyond the entrance, how was the party?"

"Boring," she said with a roll of her shoulder. "Like every other society gala."

He offered her another smile, "Well, you survived it at least."

"Yes," she leaned against his shoulder. "Like I will have to survive many more. At least tell me you had a good day."

"I had a business day. There's rather a difference. But for business it was a pretty good day."

"Well, so long as business is going well, perhaps someday you'll be able to support me and we can run away somewhere," she said, stretching her hands out to her knees.

He reached out and brushed a strand of her blonde hair behind her ear, "Hopefully soon."

She smiled at him. "Before any marriage plans are made, yes."

Scott's smile wavered ever so slightly, "That is the plan."

"Good," she said. "And Scott? Could you make it sooner?"

"As soon as I can, Emma. There's a new backer for a new ship. Father wrote me to tell me he's asked for the man to meet me in about a week to work through the details."

She smiled at him. "That sounds lovely. Can you move it any faster?" she asked with a laugh. "I know, I know."

His smile was faint, "As quickly as I can."

"Good," Emma said, leaning forward enough to kiss him lightly.

He returned the kiss, his hand moving to cup her cheek, "I love you, Emma."

Pulling away she offered him a blinding smile. "Good. Because, you know, everyone loves me. But you're special in that I actually want you back."

That earned a quiet laugh, "I'm very glad to hear that."

Grinning, she leaned forward again, stroking his shoulder. "Good. Because if you weren't we might have some problems."

He shifted on the bench so he could draw her into an embrace, "That is entirely probable."

Sighing, she nuzzled up in his embrace. "I hate having to wait so long."

"Soon. It shouldn't be much longer now, really."

Leaning up again, she kissed him. "Tell me about what it will be like then. Because I'm sick of acting the emotionless ice queen in this life."

"Well, we'll find ourselves a comfortable home, probably near the sea, since I'm to inherit father's business...or what's left of it. We'll settle down and you can say what you think, or at least not lie so constantly about it."

She smiled. "Sounds lovely. I do love the sea though we see it so rarely here."

"Considering we're landlocked here, I do rather hope we don't see it much here."

She laughed. "Well, even with mother and traveling, I don't think she likes it. But I love being able to see it and hear the waves."

"My father says she started in our town."

"Maybe that's why she doesn't like it," Emma rolled a shoulder. "Or maybe that's why I love it. Either way, I would love a house by the ocean with you."

Scott kissed her temple, lightly, "I'm glad. I don't think I could stand to live landlocked for the rest of my life."

"After being trapped here so long myself, I would see no reason to make it so," she murmured.

"Then we shall see about a home by the seaside."

M-M-M-M

Pacing the office of his manor in town, Erik turned, looking at Raven. "And you are positive of the reports?"

"Yes, completely. The business is effectively crumbling about him."

"So Marko then is taken care of?" Erik asked with an arched brow.

"Yes, Marko is taken care of. And I saw to it that his employees managed to find jobs as well, if you're interested."

"Good," he said with a nod. "They do not all deserve to suffer for him."

Raven nodded very slightly, "Exactly. Now, de Villefort, how are the plans going as regard her?"

"They are going. We've managed to find the remains of the child she killed all those years ago, which should prove quite the interesting reveal," Erik said, trying to hide his smirk. After all, the crown prosecutor had left so many dark secrets lying around.

Raven's lips curled into a bit of a smile, "Do I want to know how we're planning to reveal that to her? How are things going with her daughter and Morrell's son?"

"They are most in love," Erik returned, shaking his head slightly. "With luck news of their elopement will coincide with revealing, hopefully in court, her past mistakes."

"Very good, so there is great progress on those fronts. What is next with Sh—" Raven was cut off as the door to the office was pushed open to reveal Charles standing there.

"Erik?"

Erik froze, face turning cold for a moment. "Charles. What are you doing here?"

"I...I need to speak with you for a moment."

Motioning Raven out, Erik leaned against the wall, crossing his arms. "Yes?"

He drew a deep breath, waiting until the servant had left to speak, "I...I'm leaving. Until you've finished this. I'm going to England."

For a long moment Erik only blinked at him. "Come again?"

"I can't stay in that house, but I can't stay in France while he still holds power. I'm leaving him. I'm going to England until you've finished this."

"And when I have finished this?" Erik said, shocked and his voice wavering slightly.

He drew a deep breath, "Then I will return to France. And if I can convince Henry that you aren't completely out of your mind and dangerous to all concerned I'll return to  _you_." Charles paused, "If you'll have me."

The taller man considered him a long moment. "It's been a very long time since we were engaged."

"It...yes, it has been."

"You might not even like me anymore," Erik continued, voice still quiet. "After all, much of the man I was did die in that prison. I wasn't lying about that."

"Then let me get to know you again, show you who I remember, who I see now."

Pausing, Erik nodded slowly. "But after this is done," he said.

"Yes. After this is done. I...I can't be here for this."

"I agree," Erik said after a moment. "You don't need to see this—you shouldn't. I," hesitating a moment he winced. "Perhaps with time I could put this behind me. But not if you knew, if you were here."

Charles nodded, "I know." He hesitated before reaching out and brushing a hand over Erik's cheek, "I'll leave my contact information with your servant. She and Hank will know how to reach me when this is over."

Erik leaned slightly into the touch. "Alright. When this is over."

"Be careful, please."

After another moment, Erik inclined his head. "As much as I can be."

The smaller man paused before leaning up to kiss the other briefly, "I should go...let you get back to work."

Trying not to react to the kiss, Erik nodded. "Yes, the sooner this is over... the better."

"Take care," he finally stepped back. Pausing for another moment, Charles shook his head and exited the office, stopping only long enough to give Raven his address in London.

M-M-M-M

Several days later, Erik stood waiting for Scott Morrel, trying not to look too impatient.

Scott arrived, right on time, "Good afternoon, sir. My father sent word I was to meet with you."

"Yes," Erik said with a nod. "It is good to meet you, Scott Morrel. How does the day find you?"

"Quite well, Monsieur. My father wasn't able to give me a name beyond 'the Count', is there something else you would wish I use to address you?"

"The Count will do just fine for now," Erik replied smoothly.

"Very well. I believe you are the new backer for the next shipment?"

"Yes. In fact, I am willing at this point to offer you quite the advancement on that shipment."

Scott eyed him a bit warily at that, "You seem awfully confident that you will get that money back then, monsieur. Are you certain you wish to do that?"

"Yes. I have dealt with your father in the past and I have the utmost faith in both him and you."

"I...thank you, sir, I'm sure."

Erik nodded again. "I hope the advance can be put to good use. Is there a woman in your life?"

Scott blinked slowly, "Is there...I...yes, sir."

Erik forced a smile at that, nodding. "Perhaps you might want to set up a house somewhere."

"I..." He smiled faintly, "At some point. Her mother hardly approves."

"One doesn't need a parent's approval," Erik said with a shrug.

"I...suppose that's true, but sometimes it makes things easier."

"Ah, but the question is, are the things worthwhile in life supposed to be easy?"

Scott's smile was tired, "No, I suppose they aren't. Why do you ask about her, sir?"

Erik shrugged. "I was simply curious. I am hoping after all you make good use of these funds." He'd calculated they would be more than enough to cause the Morrel boy to run off with the daughter, and he hoped he'd calculated right.

"Well, we should talk actual business, and prices and the like, I believe."

"Yes," Erik nodded, pulling out the documents needed.

Scott looked them over, his eyes widening at the amount. His gaze moved back to Erik, "You can't honestly mean this as an advanced payment."

"Why not?"

"It's too much, sir. Two ships, fully stocked and able to sell everything in their holds would only just get you this return at the agreed upon percentage."

"Then consider it an investment in a long, continuing, and prosperous partnership."

The youth couldn't help his shocked smile at that, "Thank you, sir."

"Of course," Erik said. "Shall we discuss business now?"

"Yes, sir."

M-M-M-M

The next day, after a meeting with Scott, Emma rushed into her room, trying to pack as quickly as she could with as few servants as possible finding out.

Her mother was on her way down the hall, but paused as she reached the door to her room. The door was slightly ajar and Jean pushed it open the rest of the way, surveying the sight before her for a long moment before speaking, "And just what do you think you're doing?"

"Leaving," Emma replied promptly, not even turning but folding a dress and dropping it on top of several others.

One of Jean's eyebrows arched, "And just where would you be thinking of going?"

"Somewhere else," Emma replied. "Out by the ocean, and I know how much you hate that."

Jean's eyes narrowed, "If you think for one moment I'm allowing you to leave these grounds you are deluding yourself, my dear child."

"It's not your choice," Emma replied, turning finally, entire posture defiant.

"And where did you get the idea that it was yours?"

"Well, perhaps it is not only mine, but it's certainly mine and my husband's," Emma replied, tilting her chin back.

"Your  _what_?" Jean gaped at her.

"Husband," Emma replied sweetly. "Now if you don't mind... I'll be taking my leave."

"Who did you wed, Emma?"

"That's actually not your business anymore. No one you would approve of I'm sure."

Jean's eyes narrowed, "You expect me to believe you that you went and married someone without a word to me?"

"Yes," Emma said. "I'm surprised you didn't see it coming, honestly."

"A name, Emma."

"Scott Morrel. Actually, I think he's from the town you came from so long ago."

"Morrel? As in the owner of that failed shipping company's son? You would marry  _him_?"

"Yes," Emma replied. "And it's not failed either."

"Hasn't it? I'd heard no investors would back him after the last several lost a great deal of money in failed venture after failed venture."

"Then you haven't been listening lately," Emma said with a shrug. "Which hardly matters. I'd honestly rather live in a hovel with him than be married off to the highest bidder."

"I'll see this marriage voided, don't think I won't."

"Even that's not your choice," Emma replied, hotly.

"Do you think I can't?"

"Maybe," Emma said, voice dropping. "But don't think I won't fight it every step of the way, and him, and his father, and I even dare say his new benefactor."

Jean's eyes narrowed and she stepped aside, her lip curling, "Get out then. You have fifteen minutes to be out of this house and off these grounds."

Emma blinked, before snapping back into action, gathering up the last of the mementos she had and not even bothering with folding any of the rest of the clothing before picking up her two bags. Head held high, she swept down the stairs.

Jean watched her daughter leave before smoothing down the front of her claret gown and drawing herself back together for the rest of the business she had to conduct that day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Your songs for this chapter are Ah, Women and Pretty Lies


	10. It's the Truth If It's Official

Sebastian Shaw stood in front of Jean de Villefort's office, hat in hand and glowering as she finally arrived. "We need to talk," he all but growled.

"I haven't the time, Shaw. I'm due in court," the prosecutor looked harried. Her fading red hair was styled properly, and she carried herself with poise, but there were circles under her green eyes and she was finally beginning to look her age—nearly fifty.

"Your daughter—" Shaw started, not paying the slightest heed to her words or state.

"Has left the city. Now if you will excuse me, I must go to the court."

"Yes, she's left the city married," Shaw said, turning on his heel to follow her. "I thought we had an agreement."

"I found out about it after the fact," Jean replied icily, sweeping toward the courtroom where her fate awaited her.

Cursing under his breath, Shaw stalked after her. "And you chose not to annul it?"

"I have more pressing concerns at the moment, Monsieur."

He fumed at her as they reached the court room. "Fine. We shall discuss this again," he said, waving a hand off as if to dismiss the fact she was all but dismissing him.

Jean offered him a bitter smile, "You assume that there will be a 'later' with a confidence that has no basis, Shaw." She pushed the door open and entered the courtroom, moving to the place of the accused rather than her normal position as prosecutor.

Shaw blinked in some surprise at that, before checking the time and deciding to see what exactly was going on here. Entering the galleries above the courtroom he settled down as the judge entered, followed by the Count of Monte Cristo.

Jean watched the Count warily, something familiar beginning to tickle the back of her mind, even as the accusations against her were read.

The Count had done his hardest to keep the accusations hushed until the trial, better to see her break in front of him. They started at first with almost basic charges of corruption in court and using her power for false ends, before accumulating into conspiracy to have her father killed for being a Bonapartist, and finally, for killing her own baby child when she was young.

The judge looked at her, a little stunned by the charges himself. "How do you plead?"

The prosecutor could feel everything crumble about her as her eyes darted frantically to the Count and then to the judge. It was true, all of it was, but they couldn't possibly have proof...unless... No, all of those things were long buried. She drew herself together, "Not guilty, your honor."

The Count just smirked. He'd spent a long time building this case. The corruption charges were simple enough, and well documented once those documents came to light. He himself was a witness to them.

Stepping up to the stand, his eyes rose and he spotted none other than Shaw there in the audience. Hate twisted in his stomach, before he returned his steely gaze to the prosecutor. "You think you are not corrupt? Do you not recall the case of one Erik Lehnsherr?"

She paled, "Lehnsherr? That..."

"It's an old case, true, but there was no proof in the case, and the man you sent to prison, where he died, was innocent. How then can you claim to be uncorrupt?"

"I...There was proof. Witness reports, character witnesses."

"Please," the Count said. "As the evidence shows all three of you profited by placing him away. Your character witnesses got prestige, a husband and a job for locking him away, with no trial, on his wedding night. That is just one example."

Up above, Shaw shifted, looking around the room and rooted to the spot now, if only to make sure his own name was not mentioned in the trial.

She swallowed hard, "I acted rashly in that case and may not have heard it out clearly. I was young and impulsive, I gained little from sending an innocent to prison, and have prayed for his soul every day since word of his death reached us."

Managing not to roll his eyes, the Count started going through the slew of other cases in which she had "acted rashly."

Jean could feel her knees weakening, her voice growing softer in her protests and defenses. Case after case that she had buried, hidden away, made disappear, all were laid out before the court.

"Which is pale in comparison, of course, to ordering the death of your own father," the Count said finally, laying down the first of his two aces.

The prosecutor froze at that, "How dare you. My father was my greatest ally all my life."

The Count just laughed at there. "So why are there records of you ordering his death? He was a Bonapartist, was he not?"

"Ordering...I-I," She drew a deep breath, "Are you saying these are records of the court, Monsieur?"

"They have been made so and presented as evidence, yes," the Count said. "Letters between you and the man who did it, not to mention records of payment and a sworn statement from the assassin himself."

Jean paled, "I..." She drew a deep breath, if the man had all of this proof then... "Your honor? I wish to amend my earlier statement. I plead guilty to the final charge of infanticide."

The Count just smirked as the court turned into a sudden roar of shocked sound.

"Are you sure?" the judge asked, looking at the Count.

"I would rather plead guilty than have the weight of evidence I have no doubt the man has conjured and constructed as he pleased from heaven only knows where dragged out and produced for the court to make me appear guilty of it."  If she could manage to make what evidence he held against her in the case of the child's murder sound fabricated, she might still have some dignity left to her.

"I have constructed nothing," the Count replied. "That's your specialty. Ghosts simply find other ghosts easily that's all."

She ignored him, "Your honor, I ask that the court grant one final request. I ask that the courtroom be cleared before you pronounce your sentence. My daughter has recently wed and I do not wish this to be a blight upon her new life."

Looking around, the Judge nodded. When the Count made his declaration about ghosts, Shaw had become even more rooted to his seat, staring at him with a long gaze before finally rising and following everyone else out.

The Count remained standing. "Does that clearing include me?"

Jean finally looked at him, "I am powerless to stop you from staying. You have taken that from me effectively, Monsieur. That is to the judge's discretion if he believes in yours.

The judge looked between them. "You may do as you like."

The Count nodded, and crossing his arms remained where he was.

The judge declared his sentence, giving her life in prison due to the nature of her service to the crown for many years—no matter how much that service may have been corrupt.

Jean deVillefort was led away in chains, pausing as she passed the Count, "You are as damned as the rest of us, Monsieur."

"Me?" he asked, smirking. "For exposing you or for seeking my revenge?"

"For what I have no doubt you will do to seek it."

"You're the second to last," the Count said with a shrug.

"I had heard of Marko's business crumbling, I can only imagine what you will do to Shaw."

"Oh have no fear, he shall have the worst fate," the Count said with a cold smile. "But please. You condemned me to hell long before I had any designs on revenge. It has a poetic symmetry to it, don't you think?"

She inclined her head, "My daughter is safe though?"

"Entirely. Who else do you think would hand Morrel so much money? Enough to finally set up a house worthy of her?"

Jean smiled faintly, "Then may she remain so. And may God have mercy on us all."

His smile was as cold as his eyes. "May it be so."

"For we have had none on each other. Good luck with Shaw." With that she was lead away.

Watching her go, the Count shook his head before sweeping out of the courthouse. He had other things to worry about.

M-M-M-M

Shaw meanwhile rushed home, banging the door open. "Charles!" he called. "Charles, damnit, where is that man?"

One of the house servants approached him softly, "Monsieur Shaw?"

"What?" he demanded, whirling on them.

The servant held out a letter, "This was left for you." He bowed quickly before scurrying away.

Shaw scowled after them and tore it open, reading its contents and storming up to Hank's room, only to find the boy gone. Growling, he moved to Charles' room, seeing the obvious signs of him having vacated and sat down hard on the bed. Was everything falling apart?

M-M-M-M

Still feeling nervous in the area, Hank approached the Count's house, pausing in front of it before changing direction and heading for the servant's entrance.

Alex was perched in the kitchen peeling potatoes. There were plenty of servants for that job, but if he was here Raven, and probably the Count as well, was less likely to find him. He didn't give help to the kitchen staff enough for them to seek him there.

A hesitant knock sounded on the kitchen door, as if the knock was considering running away.

The blond looked up at that, setting the paring knife and the potato aside before going to answer the door. He blinked at the figure on the other side, "Oh. Hello."

"Hi," Hank said, shifting back and fiddling with his hat again. "Um..."

It took Alex another moment to realize he was keeping the other out of the house. He stepped aside quickly, "You want to come in?"

"If you wouldn't mind of course," Hank said, feeling like he had too many limbs, the way he all but towered over the blond.

"Not my house to say one way or the other. Come on in." He moved back over to where he'd perched himself on the kitchen table. If the cook had been there he'd be getting hell, but since she wasn't he was safe.

Hank followed him. "Well, am I welcome to join you on the table or should I find another perch?"

"Up to you. I'm peeling potatoes, so there will be a sharp object in my hand. If you don't mind that you can join me here."

Hesitating again, Hank sat down on the edge of the table. "Well, I suppose a knife is more dangerous than plants. You're not planning on attacking or kidnapping me again, right?"

"Nah, too much effort," Alex answered, picking up the paring knife and potato to return to his work.

"Not sure that's entirely reassuring," Hank murmured but nodded.

The blond glanced at him, "I didn't like doing it the first time. Sure as hell won't do it again."

"See, there's the reassurance," Hank said, smiling at him.

Alex offered him a bit of a smile in return, "What brings you here?"

"I," he shifted again, more obviously uncomfortable. "I don't know, really. The world just went upside down I think and honestly... I had no one else to talk to, so why not go toward the root cause of the problem?"

"Me? I...do hope you actually mean the Count as the root cause?"

"No, I mean, root cause of, well not the entire world turning..." Hank stopped. "I'm not sure I'm really all that useful with words."

Alex swallowed, keeping his eyes on his work, "Well...try?"

"You're the problem because I can't stop thinking about you," Hank said. "Maybe that wasn't so hard to say. Even after hearing the fact you kidnapped me, I mean, there was a reason I followed you in the first place, right? And then the conversation the other night and... I don't know. But maybe confronting you about it will help," he laughed a little at what he considered his own folly.

The knife in Alex's hand stilled before he cut himself, but only barely, "I...you mean you actually... even after you know that... But..."

"Followed you for a reason," Hank repeated. "I just have no idea what to do now."

"Well...what," Alex paused, "what do you want to do?"

"Was sort of hoping you might be able to enlighten me on that idea," Hank mumbled, looking at his hat again.

The blond set the potato aside, "I...well, I mean..."

"Any thoughts there?" Hank asked a little hopefully.

"That...entirely depends on your reaction to what I'm thinking, and I'm not sure I can voice it."

Hank shifted. "Well, can you do it?"

Putting the knife down as well, Alex finally turned to Hank. He hesitated for a long moment before leaning over and kissing the young noble.

For a moment Hank just sat there, letting the kiss happen before drawing back slightly. "Oh."

Alex pulled back, "Sorry..."

"No," Hank said, voice suddenly quick. "No, I mean, yes. That was the right answer." Now he hesitated before suddenly surging forward again, taking Alex's face in his large hands and pulling him back into a kiss.

The smaller youth startled a bit at that, but leaned into the kiss. His hand twisted in the front of the other's shirt. Unused to the action and the sensations, Hank fumbled around the kiss for a bit, managing to hit his nose on Alex's at one point, and nearly biting him by accident at another but he was trying to catalog each feeling and each part of the other's mouth along the way.

Alex finally drew back, "If the cook finds us in here I'm the new dinner entree..."

Hank swallowed, licking his lips and trying to calm his heart rate back down. "Oh. Any, erm, suggestions?"

Alex slid off the table, "Well...there are a few unused rooms. Raven doesn't stick her head in them much and I'm not sure the Count knows that the doors open."

Hank blinked, and nodded after a moment before standing from the table as well. "Alright."

Alex led the way out of the kitchen, pausing frequently to check for other servants and his employer.

Following, the taller blinked slightly at those actions. "Are you really so paranoid about this?"

"I have no idea what my boss will do. Raven would talk him down, the other servants would tell him. Until I test those waters I'd rather not run in to him."

"Oh," Hank said softly. "He does seem quite the... well, character." He just twisted his hat harder in his hands.

"Putting it mildly. I..." He glanced at Hank, "I mean, if it's any help I think he likes you as much as he likes anybody...beyond the ruining your inheritance I mean."

"Wasn't ever that fond of it," Hank shrugged slightly.

"Good to know. Like I said, I think he sort of likes you, but I never really know with him. He doesn't _not_  like you."

"Oh, well, alright," Hank managed. "I thought for sure he was going to kill me when I told him to stay away from Charles."

"...That's because you told him to stay away from Charles. Though considering he almost killed me when your father snuck into the carriage I will never understand him."

Hank's mouth twitched as if he was unsure whether to have a panic attack or laugh. "He's a complex man," he said with a firm nod as if that was the excuse he needed.

"Yeah." Alex finally opened the door to one of the side rooms, "Well, here we are."

"Yes. What are we doing here?" Hank asked, stepping inside and turning back to Alex.

Alex paused for another moment, taking a step over to the other and leaning up to try the kiss again. He had let the door swing shut behind them, but hadn't actually checked the latch.

"Oh," Hank murmured, hands hanging by his side before he brought them up, lightly resting them on either side of Alex's waist.

The blond drew back slightly, "I really didn't want to end up in the soup pot, but that doesn't mean I necessarily wanted to stop."

"That is very good to hear," Hank said, voice a little breathless as his hands tightened ever so slightly. "I really do not know what I am doing..."

"You think I do?"

"Well, perhaps I was hoping for some sort of an idea," Hank murmured, leaning back in for another kiss instead.

Alex pressed up into the kiss, an arm wrapping around Hank's neck as he pulled him down a bit further. His free hand traced down the taller man's side, ghosting over the coat he wore. Shivering at that touch, Hank leaned into the kiss, using his grip on Alex's waist to pull him closer. That garnered a soft sound from Alex as he pressed himself flush against Hank's body, tilting his head into the kiss.

Finally Hank tore himself away. "This, this, I mean, this room doesn't have a bed and this is going really fast and I just..." he trailed off, trying to order his thoughts and what he was actually trying to say.

Alex swallowed hard at that, "You...?"

"Should... well, slow down, or..."

"I...We...we  _should_  slow down," he didn't step back at all.

"Or I could just kiss you again and see where that leads," Hank replied, eyes trained on Alex's mouth, implying which one he was leaning toward.

Alex grinned at that, "I like that one. Though...if this leads much further we're going to want a different room..."

"Oh," Hank said and leaned in for that kiss anyway.

Alex willingly went with the kiss, leaning up, his hands tangling in Hank's hair. One of Hank's hands finally moved from his waist up along his back. The smaller man arched at that touch, pressing further against Hank, his right hand moving to rest against the taller man's cheek.

Swallowing, Hank pulled back again. "I... I'm scared. Of what's going to happen. With your employer, with my father, with the lord who's named me heir. But, I don't, those fears don't affect this."

"I...It's a scary place to be. If Erik pulls this off, then I guess we'll see where everything else ends up. But... I don't want it to affect this."

"I just, I did not want you to think I was... doing this as a distraction. Yes, I'm terrified but that's not why I came here."

Alex managed a faint smile at that, "I-I'm glad to hear that. I mean that I'm not a distraction."

"No," Hank said. "You're not. Not entirely sure what you are yet but not that. But, I mean, a noble and a servant. It could be misinterpreted, right? Especially considering... well, what your employer is currently doing to my family."

The blond finally took a half step back, "It could be, yes."

Hank reached for him, a bit desperate. "No, listen. I'm here because of you apologizing to me for being lonely. For complimenting my garden. I don't have to lie or pretend with you. I don't want this to be misinterpreted, but it  _will_  be by  _others_  and I don't want... I wouldn't want you to believe them."

There was a pause as Alex searched the other's expression, weighing his honesty. He finally nodded, "I... I can't see myself putting much stock in what people say."

Hank shifted again, hands still at Alex's hips. "I'm used to gossip, I guess. I just. I want to be clear here, as much as I can be with all the confusion. And I..."

Alex shook his head, reaching up to put a finger on Hank's lips, "Shh. No more talk, you're making  _me_  confused now."

Hank shifted, offering him a faint smile. "So, the question then of course is... well, slow down or move?"

"Move...I mean..." Alex blushed a bit, "Might as well."

Hank swallowed. "Okay, this I haven't done before. You know the way I presume?"

Alex hesitated before nodding and slipping out of the room, figuring Hank would follow him.

Which Hank did, sliding his hand through Alex's, unsure what he would do when he stopped touching the other. That earned him a nervous smile as Alex led the way through the halls toward his quarters.


	11. Once a Slave, I'm Free

Sebastian Shaw stormed his way to the Count's townhouse, knocking violently on the door.

Raven waved one of the house servants away, smoothing her blue skirt down before answering the door, "Yes? Can I help you, sir?"

"Where is that damn Count?" Shaw demanded, voice hard and hot in anger.

She suppressed the faint smile she could feel tugging at the corners of her lips, as she stepped aside to let him in, "If you will wait here, Monsieur, I will see if he is receiving visitors."

"I am hardly a visitor," he said, moving to shove past her.

She held her ground, bracing herself and not letting him past, though she kept her tone courteous, "Wait here and I will fetch him, if you please, monsieur."

"That... that damn man is hardly one I would wait for," Shaw snapped, still seething.

At that point the Count himself appeared at the head of the stairs leading down into the entry hall. "Raven, what is this ruckus?"

She turned her head to look up at him, "Sebastian Shaw to see you, sir."

The Count blinked just once, something akin to terrible joy flickering in his eyes though he did not smile. "And what does Sebastian Shaw want at my abode?"

"Don't play with me," Shaw snapped. "Charles is gone."

"I am hardly accountable for your husband. If you lost him that's entirely your fault. I had nothing to do with it."

Raven stepped back, remaining in the entry hall, one corner of her lips finally curling upward.

Shaw took that chance to storm into the entry hall, eyes glued to the figure at the top of the stairs. "I don't believe that for a second. You have been haunting my life too long for that."

The Count smiled thinly. "That is the job of ghosts, is it not?"

"Surely you did not expect me to wait for you to come to me," Shaw snapped. "You've gone after Marko and de Villefort already. So what do you have planned for me then?"

Raven murmured under her breath from her place near the door, still holding it open, "So your  _charming_  personality had nothing to do with him leaving..."

Even from the top of the stairs, Erik's eyes went to her but Shaw apparently didn't hear, or else didn't bother to comment. "Perhaps," the Count said. "After all, you are all such lambs to the slaughter."

"Like you were?" Shaw hissed and Erik finally swept his way down the stairs, eyes as hard as the stones in his prison had been.

"Yes. But you, my dear man, will find yourself in a far worse hell than I did. I bring it to your doorstep and I will leave it there, for you to wallow in. You shall lose everything as I did. And you will fall down on your knees and pray."

Shaw paled slightly but he didn't move back. "You would like to."

"You think I couldn't?"

"You were always too kind," Shaw said, tilting his chin out.

The Count let out a harsh laugh. "Please. That was burned out of me long ago. Now it's just justice."

Raven shook her head, "Any compassion withered and died when you locked him up. You saw what was found for de Villefort."

Shaw's eyes snapped to her, his expression as deadly as he could make it. Raven looked singularly unimpressed by that. She'd been dealing with the Count for the last handful of years, and since he still needed her and was in the room she certainly wasn't concerned with silent threats from Shaw.

"So then, if you're not waiting for me to come after you," the Count said, voice smooth. "What is your plan?"

Shaw was trying to gather himself back up, turning his gaze back to the Count. "A duel."

"A duel?" the Count laughed. "You sent me to hell and threw away the key and you propose a duel?"

Raven's gaze darted to the Count, a flicker of apprehension lighting her eyes.

Shaw bristled. "Yes. I would rather that than wait for whatever you had planned. Either way, it would be an ending."

The Count's smile turned even colder. "You would only hope it would be an ending you mean."

Alex opened the door to one of the first floor corridors, still talking to Hank, "So, we'll have to see about meeting up again before—" He froze as he saw the trio in the front hall.

Hank, who had been following on his heels and smiling just at his general direction and life in general nearly ran into him before freezing as well, eyes going wide as Shaw and the Count turned to stare at him.

"McCoy," Shaw growled. "What are you doing here?"

The Count's eyes echoed the same question and Hank swallowed hard, looking a little desperately at Alex.

Alex bit his lip slightly, glancing at Raven for a bit of help. She just smirked at him, waiting to see if they could dig themselves out or if she'd need to step in. Alex reminded himself why there were days he hated his fellow servant, "The..." He drew a deep breath and glanced from Shaw to the Count, "We encountered one another earlier today and got to talking about the flowers I had seen in his garden. There are a couple of varieties that would be nice additions here."

The Count tilted his chin at his servant, frowning at him in confusion and Hank nodded quickly. "Yes, we were talking about plants."

"You've betrayed me too?" Shaw demanded and Hank's shoulders hunched.

"I-I..."

Alex's eyes narrowed at that and he spoke before Raven could stop him, "You couldn't command loyalty from a dog. You've an overbearing personality that cares for nothing but its wealth and prestige."

Eyes going even wider if possible, Hank gaped down at him, and Shaw's face whitened. "I hope they like you," he all but growled. "Because with Charles out of the house, I would think you should gather your belongings. Tonight."

Alex winced very slightly, glancing at Hank apologetically. Swallowing, Hank nodded mutely, feeling his stomach sink.

Shaw turned back to the Count, whose expression was starting to edge past the cold stone of earlier into sheer fury. "Tomorrow," he said. "What do you say to that?"

"I only await hearing the time and the place," he replied.

Raven moved quietly over to where Hank and Alex were, murmuring, "Can you keep the Count from getting killed until I get back?"

"Where are you going?" Alex responded, mutely.

"Doesn't matter. Can you?"

"How long?"

"Might be tomorrow afternoon...if I leave  _now_."

Hank was still wilting where he stood.

Alex glanced at Hank and then back at Raven, "We'll do our best. What are you doing?"

"I'm fetching Charles."

That got Hank's attention. "What?"

"I'm fetching Charles. If Shaw is here then he can't have left very long ago. He won't have gotten past Calais at the furthest," she explained.

Blinking, Hank nodded, mind still reeling. "Do you think it would help?"

"Help keep Erik from getting killed at least. Probably give the Count enough incentive to win this."

Hank nodded, and glanced at Alex. "I, I should go see about, well, saving some of my things."

"I'll come with you, if you like?" Alex offered.

Standing where he had been earlier, the Count glanced over at where the three were standing, a frown between his brows.

Raven stepped away from the group, looking at her employer, "When is the duel?"

"Tomorrow," the Count returned.

"Afternoon? There's a field that would put neither at a disadvantage outside of the city."

The Count nodded, eyes still on Hank and Alex. "Make the arrangements. You two there, come here."

Raven glanced at Alex, who nodded to her, he'd see to it. With that she slipped out of the entry hall. Alex swallowed hard and moved over to the Count, glancing at Hank again, "Yes, sir?"

"You know you can't actually order me around?" Hank asked, but followed Alex.

The Count did not look impressed with him. "What are you two doing?"

"What do you mean, sir?" the servant raised his eyes to meet his employer's.

"Don't give me that," he snapped. "Sneaking around, meeting up. What exactly are you thinking?"

Alex flinched slightly, "That I might possibly have a chance at a life of some sort after this is all over? That he's charming, kind, not his fathers?"

Hank rolled his shoulders back but for the moment let Alex do the talking.

For a moment Erik's face twisted, the man cracking the facade of the Count. "You are probably a fool."

Alex scowled at that, "So what if I am?"

The Count considered a long moment and turned back to Hank. "You're welcome to have an unused room," he said and turned to stride away before Hank could even think about forming words to reply.

Alex watched the Count leave before breathing a soft sight of relief, "That went rather well...with him I mean. Do you want any help at Shaw's estate?"

"Pr-probably could use some," Hank said, nodding, and unsure when exactly the ground had been yanked out from under his feet.

The smaller man glanced up at him, "Are you going to be alright?"

He nodded after a moment, swallowing. "I, I think so," finally he smiled down at Alex. "It'll work out."

Alex offered him a faint smile, "Yeah. Well, let's go see about getting your things then."

Nodding again, Hank hesitantly took Alex's hand before turning toward his former home to gather what meager possessions he actually cared for.

M-M-M-M

The next day the Count strode toward the door, pulling his gloves on as he walked only to find Hank by the door. "What do you think you're doing?"

"Well," Hank said and shifted. "Don't duels usually have seconds of some sort?"

"Not this kind," the Count returned, briskly.

"I still, I would like to come," Hank said, shifting. "For Charles' sake if nothing else."

"Charles should have no part of this," the Count said, voice hardening.

"You're getting a second, and I can't act as it," Alex spoke from where he had opened the door to let the Count know the carriage was ready. "Needed or not, it's a formality, we're there to make sure you don't get stabbed in the back."

The Count glanced between them before sweeping past them toward the carriage. Hank blinked. "Was that a yes...?"

"That wasn't a 'no'. You can ride inside with him or on the box with me."

"Box," Hank said quickly.

Alex offered him a faint smile before climbing up onto the box, leaving room for the other young man.

Looking the box over, Hank climbed up and settled in beside him. "Do you even know where this duel is happening?"

"I did the arranging of it, remember?"

"Right," Hank murmured. "So, where is it then?"

"Do you know those ruins to the East?"

"The old castle?" Hank asked.

"Yes. The field there."

Hank swallowed and nodded. "Alright. That should be, well, rather out in the middle of nowhere."

"Hence the carriage... We'll unhitch one of the horses when we get there to make it easier to ride for help should it be needed."

"Yes. I was more concerned about injuries or a trap myself."

"And this is why we're going with him."

"Still, I just don't think Shaw has ever been confronted with something like this. I have no idea how he's going to react and I think that frightens me."

Alex nodded slightly, his hand going to rest on the pistol he was carrying in his belt, "Well, we'll keep an eye out for anything, alright?"

"Alright," Hank murmured, leaning back, pausing, and reaching a hand over to lightly rest along Alex's shoulders as he drove.

The smaller man paused, leaning slightly into the touch as he guided the horses nearer to the field.

Shaw was waiting, and all expectations to the contrary he did look like he was alone, a single horse tied to a small tree behind him.

Alex pulled the carriage to a stop, getting down and opening the door for the Count.

Stepping out, the Count surveyed the field, smiling coldly at the other man. "Well. Here we are."

"I see you weren't brave enough to come alone," Shaw snapped.

"Brave? I'm not sure that's what's at stake here." Drawing his sword he glanced back. "You two stay at the carriage."

Alex nodded, "Yes, sir."

Hank stepped back, shoulder to shoulder with Alex and swallowed hard as the Count advanced upon the other man. "Are you ready for this?"

"Of course," Shaw returned, and without preamble lunged, the Count taking a quick step to the side, getting his own foil up.

Alex looked toward the road, praying that Raven would hurry up.

Shaw drew back, trying another attack, hoping to catch the other man off-guard. Bringing his hand behind his back, as if to mock the other, Erik stepped to the side, carefully stabbing his sword toward Shaw's side.

Shaw narrowly avoided the blade, his eyes narrowing as he swept his sword around, slashing downward. Going quickly backwards, the Count scowled at that. He threw caution to the wind long enough to step forward, getting a jab on Shaw's sword arm in.

The other man swore, pulling back again. He snarled, lunging forward again, starting the motion toward his opponent's left arm and sweeping in toward his right side at the last moment. Expecting the other move, Erik hissed when he changed tactics, accepting a graze before pressing any advantage he might have with a flurry of strokes. Shaw rapidly went on the defensive, blocking the blows as best he could, a couple landing even against his best efforts.

Hoofbeats were heard, rapidly nearing. Charles pulled his horse to a stop, barely waiting until it had stopped before he dismounted. He tossed his reins to Alex, "Erik, Sebastian, for God's sake!"

That drew Erik up short, head snapping around as he stepped back.

Shaw continued with his motion, his sword meeting flesh, but not Erik's. Charles gasped as the sword sliced along his side.

Raven reined her horse in, slipping from the saddle and glancing at Alex and Hank.

Erik lunged forward at that, pulling Charles back out of the way and going quickly at Shaw. Shaw moved swiftly onto the defensive again, his sword flickering quickly to try and block Erik even as he attempted to lock hilts enough to twist the other's sword away.

Having none of that, Erik continued to press the attack, moving the pair of them around the field. "You son of a bitch," he growled between the blows.

Shaw stumbled backwards, his breathing heavy, "He's alive, and I was aiming for you."

"That doesn't matter, you attacked your own husband," Erik snarled as their swords crossed and he tried to use his height advantage to press the other down.

Shaw twisted the swords forcefully, attempting to twist the blade out of Erik's hand, "It was an accident. He was foolish enough to get in the way."

"That justifies anything you've ever done?" Erik demanded, his facade as Count dropping entirely

"Anything? Hardly. Though as regards you?"

"Sure, we can do with that," Erik growled.

"You've always been in the way. Always reaching for things you have no right to."

"I wanted to build a life with someone I love," Erik replied, hotly. "What right had you ever had to any of those things?"

"Far more than you did. Life handed you everything, you needed someone to show you that it wasn't that simple."

"What did you ever fight for?" Erik demanded, drawing back and attacking him again from the side. "You only cheated and lied. You have no idea the things I would fight for, watching my father get sicker and sicker every day as I struggled to bring him money."

Shaw hissed as Erik's blade cut him again, choosing not to respond to Erik's words, focusing on retaliating against his sword, thrusting, and sweeping his sword to where he expected the other to dodge. Erik stepped into a sweep of the blade, and hissed as one of his arms went numb. Instead, he slid into that opening, thrusting the sword out again to catch at Shaw's stomach before flicking it up, aiming for his heart.

Shaw gasped as the sword pierced him and stumbled, the point penetrating straight to his heart. It was over.

Shocked, Erik drew back, panting as he tried to balance himself, the thin blade of the foil useless in that regard. Raven was at his side, quickly, supporting him. Charles moving to his other side, ignoring the deep mark the sword had left in his own side, "Erik..."

"What are you doing here?" he asked, looking over at him. "You were supposed to be away. You weren't supposed to get yourself hurt..."

"I couldn't let you get killed either. I was hoping to be here before this happened. It took a bit longer to find you once I'd returned than planned," he glanced at Raven.

Erik looked between him and Raven, eyes roving over to where Hank and Alex were running over. "I don't know what to do," he said faintly, glancing down at where Shaw lay.

"You both get your wounds tended to and then move on from there," Raven suggested.

Pausing, he nodded, wrapping an arm around Charles' shoulders.


	12. Homeward Guide My Heart

A month later, Emma Morrel stepped out of the sea side cottage Scott and she had settled in, to greet their guests. Erik and Charles were heading across the sea, planning to travel for a while before probably settling in London. Hank, Alex and Raven were there to see them off.

Scott emerged right behind his young wife, offering their guests a smile. Charles stepped forward, beaming at the young couple, "Emma, you look lovely. The air here suits you, as does the company."

She smiled at him. "I can certainly say it's the air, not so sure about the company," even as she said it she offered her husband a smile.

Scott offered her a fond if slightly exasperated look, "Emma's being kind, I've been caught up with work more than I intended these past couple of weeks. I fear I've not been the best company for her."

"Well, it's not been all bad. His father has been quite good company," she said with a smile, though she eyed Hank as he approached. "What is he doing?"

"Oh," he said, remembering the engagement. Stepping to one side, he took Alex's hand, offering her a hesitant smile. Blinking, Emma nodded.

Charles glanced toward Hank, smiling faintly, before turning back to Emma, "I'm glad to hear you're settling in well." He paused for a moment, glancing at Erik, "I'm not sure either of you have ever been formally introduced to this gentleman..?"

"We have," Emma said quietly, curtseying. "Count."

He inclined his head to the pair. "I no longer go by that title."

Glancing at her husband in some surprise, Emma blinked. "Monsieur?"

Scott's brow rose, "Then, no, I don't believe we have been..."

Charles's smile brightened a bit, "May I introduce, Mr. Erik Lehnsherr. Erik, Mr. Scott Morrell and his lovely bride, Emma."

He inclined his head, taking Emma's hand and kissing the back of it. "I am sorry for any confusion," Erik said.

"It's alright, I'm sure," Emma replied, looking at the house. "You've given us more than enough."

Scott spoke quietly, "I was able to get passage for the two of you on a schooner that departs with the evening tide tomorrow. I hope that will suit?"

"More than well enough," Erik replied, glancing back toward the small city. "I think I have seen enough of France for the moment."

Charles glanced up at Erik, changing his focus and the subject, "What do you say to a walk along the quayside this evening, Erik?"

Glancing down at him, and smiling softly though something dark was still lurking in his eyes, Erik nodded. "Alright."

"If all of you will excuse us?" Charles glanced at the rest of the group. Raven shooed them off, moving over to start a conversation of her own with Emma.

Hank and Alex looked set to meander off the other way for the moment, tension still in the air between Hank and Emma though it had lessened greatly since Hank had shown his choice of Alex.

Erik took Charles' hand, leading him along the once familiar quay side. "It feels like a dream to be here," he said. "It's been so long..."

"It has. Far too long." Charles closed his eyes, leaning against Erik for a moment before he straightened and looked up toward the skies.

Following his gaze, Erik also looked up. "It looks the same."

"It does." He leaned a bit closer, pointing up at a star, "Do you see it up there?"

A smile playing around his mouth, Erik nodded. "The star."

"Yes. Do you know I hated that star for years?"

Eyes tracking down to him, Erik blinked. "Did you?"

"It was supposed to always bring you home to me. I spent every night after you were arrested hanging my prayers on that star. And every day doing everything I could to find a way to contact you, to prove your innocence. And then I was told you were dead. I saw the death certificate. And that damn star kept shining."

Erik reached a hand out to cup the side of his face. "But it did bring me home to you."

Charles leaned into the touch, "It did, but I didn't know it would."

"I know," Erik said softly, stepping closer. "But sometimes life is surprising, and apparently stars do what they're supposed to. No matter where we go in this world, that star's still going to be there. Well, it will be in the sky, and I don't think we'll stray far enough to lose sight of it."

"I..." Charles looked up at the other, "I'm not strong enough to lose you again, Erik. Where you go, I go."

"I said where  _we_  go, didn't I?"

That earned a smile, "You did. And I'll hold you to that."

"I have no intention of leaving again," Erik promised. "I've gone down that road before and I'd prefer not to do it again."

Charles hesitated for a moment before leaning up to kiss the other. Tilting his face down into the kiss, Erik drew him closer, vaguely aware of the star in the sky behind them almost as if the star was giving them a blessing to start anew.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so we come to the end of this tale. Looking on toward the hope for a future that they had lost, we leave them.
> 
> And we leave you with the last song for the story: The Man I Used To Be


End file.
